ARCADIA
by SANDEFUR
Summary: The vacation ends. Fourth season concludes.
1. Chapter 1

ARCADIA

by

SANDEFUR

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction just for fun. I have no claims.

8-3-07/predawn Friday.

God calls on Grace. Although her body remains restfully asleep, the essence of Grace's soul rises in a form known as astral projection. Grace has had this ability since awaking from a coma last year. During that coma God briefly borrowed Grace's physical form with her permission, and as a reward, Grace can now astral travel while asleep. After the birth of her daughter Annie, Grace prayed for a break from the missions God sends her on to witness various events while Grace adjusted to motherhood. Now, for the first time in months, Grace feels that 'tug' of God's calling. She will travel where God wills, and witness whatever God wants her to see. Grace considers this ability a wondrous divine gift and serves willingly.

Grace's ghost-like form pauses for a moment so she can confirm that her husband Luke and 11 month old daughter are well. She then rises up through the Girardi house to a great height and proceeds southeast at an astonishing speed. There is no physical sensation since Grace's body is safely asleep in her bed. Grace merely observes her travel and notes as she leaves Maryland the lights of Washington D. C. off to her left. Still travelling, Grace goes over Virginia and begins to slow somewhere over North Carolina—she thinks. It is hard to determine landmarks travelling so high and fast just before dawn.

Grace begins to descend over a small town near an interstate highway. On the very edge of the town is a grouping of small businesses geared to serve highway travellers: a gas station, two fast food restaurants, a country store, a liquor store and an old motel that is not part of a national chain. Grace begins to slowly drift along the row of motel rooms until she comes to the very last. Grace passes through the door…

The room is an ordinary, inexpensive one that is fairly clean but has seen better days. With a frown of disapproval, Grace realizes the situation she is observing. On the floor are two empty wine bottles of the screwtop variety which are the type that have extra alcohol added. Sold primarily to alcoholics, it is known as the bum's cheap drunk. A third nearly empty bottle is on the nightstand, and Grace's suspicions are confirmed by a full bottle all the way across the room on the window sill. They don't always manage it, but dedicated boozers try to leave a bottle untouched so they can start the day 'right'.

Grace wonders why God is showing her this—some pathetic drunk on a bender? On the bed, completely covered by a sheet, the drunk snorts and snores loudly. Grace knows that sort of snore—she heard it from her mother for years before she sobered up. Oh God, is that what this is about? A warning that her mother is about to start drinking again? Grace hears a noise from under the sheet—no doubt the drunk waking up with a hell of a hangover.

Groaning with pain, the drunk peeks out from under the sheet, blinking frequently due to blurry vision… Oh no, it's…Joan! Grace gasps, but then breathes a sigh of relief. Despite the shock of seeing Joan like this, Grace is glad to know Joan is alive. About three weeks ago, the Girardi household was rocked by the news that a vacationing Joan was suddenly engaged to a Miami cop named Jimmy Tubbs. While still reeling from that news, there came the report that Officer Tubbs had been killed in the line of duty. Jimmy's partner, watch commander and pastor informed Joan of the tragedy, and of course she took it very badly. After calming down, Joan thanked the three men for their compassion and assured them she would be contacting her grandparents right away for their support in this difficult time. The men left a sad but seemingly calm Joan. That was the last anyone had seen or heard of Joan Girardi in two weeks.

With shaky hands, Joan reaches for the almost empty bottle of wine on the nightstand. One swallow makes Joan violently ill, and she vomits into a plastic bucket kept by the bed for just that purpose. Very little comes out of Joan, and that is tinged with blood. Joan waits a moment for her stomach to settle and then takes the last swallow of liquor. Joan pauses again, but this time it stays down. Moaning in misery, Joan kicks off the sheet. Grace is surprised to see her sister-in-law naked, but she is far more surprised to see Joan's condition. Joan's hair is like a rat's nest, her skin is blotchy, she is bloated and there are flecks of dried vomit on her breasts.

Very unsteadily, Joan leaves the bed and stands - swaying slightly. She manages two steps before she falls back, landing hard on her butt… "Ow."

Joan begins crawling on her hands and knees toward the door while muttering something under her breath. Grace wants to cry at this pathetic sight, but apparently can't in her current form. Joan reaches the door and slowly raises herself up by the doorknob. Grace realizes Joan is about to open the door and automatically tries to shout: 'Joan, stop! You're naked!' but of course, there is no sound. Joan opens the door wide. The sun is just rising, but fortunately, no one is in view. Joan looks upward…

"Why? Why are you here again? How many times do I have to tell you: LEAVE-ME-ALONE!"

As Joan grabs her head from the pain of shouting, Grace stares horrified. Oh, this is bad. Joan's mental health has always been a little iffy, but when she starts having conversations with imaginary people…

"Don't pretend you care. Go away!" Joan continues. Then, after a pause, she adds, "Whoa…gross."

Joan closes the door and unsteadily starts her way across the room on a direct path to the unopened bottle of wine on the window sill. Grace stays on the opposite side of the room wishing she did not have to witness this, but God has not yet called her away. Before reaching the bottle, Joan glances at the mirror and hesitates…

"Well? What do you want this time? Join the cheerleaders? Take piano lessons? Mock trial? Yeah, 'mock'. We are done!"

Grace groans in anguish. This is torture, having to witness this without being able to help. From the angle where Grace is standing, she can not see the mirror, but it seems Joan has decided to argue with her own reflection…

"Make me." Joan defiantly states.

Suddenly, Joan drops to her knees in front of the mirror. Trembling, she glares at her own reflection…

"No, not even you can be this cruel. Haven't I suffered enough? Must you remind me of what I've lost?" There is a brief pause and Joan asks with a tearful voice, "Jimmy? No, this can't be real…"

Grace sighs, realizing the extent of Joan's madness. She believes she is speaking to her lost love…

"Give him back. You-owe-me!"

A pause. "Why not?"

Pause. "Jimmy…you said you loved me."

Pause. "I miss you so much. How can I go on without you?"

Another pause (you could swear this was an actual conversation). "He did win. He said he would cause me misery, and he did. He took you from me. Now, I'm alone and dying inside. For once, he told the truth."

A long pause and then Joan nods. "Yes, forever and ever—connected but apart."

After one more long pause, Joan reaches out to touch the mirror and then begins to cry. She stands and takes the last bottle of wine into her arms and clutches it closely to her. Joan steps into the bathroom and Grace follows her. Joan pours the contents of the bottle down the sink and drops the empty into the wastebasket. She starts the shower. Grace realizes what this means. Joan has reached rock bottom and has chosen to claw her way back. Grace feels the 'tug' and she is on her way back to Arcadia.

X X X X X

8-5-07/Sunday morning.

In the Girardi living room Grace plays with Annie, helping her stack small, colorful plastic blocks. Nearby, the latest Girardi (Eleanor) sleeps in a crib. As usual, this baby's sleep is fitful—seemingly filled with endless bad dreams. Annie, with Grace's help, has built a small wall of the plastic blocks. When the last one is in place, Grace's daughter pushes them over and laughs, clapping her hands. Grace grins.

"Yeah, that's my favorite part too."

As Annie begins rebuilding the wall, Grace's mind wanders back over the last two days. Knowing Joan is alive is wonderful, but being unable to share that with anyone has been hell. Only Grace's ex-shrink Dr. John Hunter knows the secret of her ability to astral travel. As much as she loves Luke and her in-laws, Grace can't imagine them ever believing her if she tried to reveal her secret. Grace is well aware of how the Girardis reacted to Joan's weirdness—once actually trying to have her committed. Grace is not willing to risk the same fate as Joan…

Joan. Other than stating that she had a 'feeling' that they would soon hear from Joan, Grace could say no more. Friday passed without a phone call, as did Saturday. Grace tried to find that motel on her own in a time of astral travel, but had no luck. Grace worries that she was wrong about Joan's decision to return to them…

A sound at the front door—Grace turns and sees a weak looking Joan entering, followed by a cab driver with her luggage. Grace runs to the foyer and throws her arms around her best friend. The two sisters-in-law share a long, supportive hug. As they part, Grace does her best to hide her dismay at Joan's pitiful condition. Recovering from alcohol poisioning is more complicated than just sobering up. Joan hands the cab driver a tip and Grace escorts him to the door. He pauses and whispers…

"Watch her. She's in a bad way."

Grace nods her agreement as she closes the door. She turns and sees Annie crawling at high speed up the ramp to the foyer level. Annie coos her joy at the sight of her aunt. Joan smiles for the first time since Jimmy's death. She bends down to receive her niece, becomes dizzy and topples over.

"Joan!" Grace cries as she rushes to her friend.

Annie, seeing this scene, doesn't hesitate to keep crawling toward Joan. She and Grace arrive at the same time. Annie reaches out and touches Joan's face. Joan opens her eyes and smiles again…

"Hi Annie, I didn't fall on you, did I?"

Annie, with a very sad look on her face, pats Joan's hand.

"Aww, you remember me."

Grace kneels beside Joan. "Are you okay?"

"Hey Grace, I fell down."

"I saw."

"I didn't fall on Annie, did I?" Joan asks, looking alarmed.

"No, Annie is fine. I'm going to put her in her playpen. You stay here, okay?"

"Okey-dokey."

Grace picks up Annie and takes her to the playpen in the middle of the living room. As Grace lowers Annie inside, Annie looks back to Joan and then to her mama with concern on her surprisingly intelligent face. Grace nods and whispers…

"I know. I'll take care of her."

Grace does a quick check on Eleanor and returns to the foyer to find Joan has climbed onto the rail chair. Joan looks to Grace and gives a sheepish smile.

"I got a little woozy there."

"Yes, you did. Joan, are you sober?"

"I think so."

"When was your last drink?"

"Um...two days ago."

Grace does a quick calculation, and considering the vast amount of liquor Joan consumed, she should be about 80 percent sober by now. Her body is naturally shaky from the alcohol withdrawal, but Joan should be more coherent than this.

"Joan, when was the last time you ate?"

Joan furrows her brow, thinking. "I had a Sprite at a reststop on the bus ride home. I like Sprite."

"I know. I meant an actual meal. Have you had anything to eat since you stopped drinking?"

Again Joan furrows her brow, thinking hard. She shrugs.

"Nothing at all? Joan, have you eaten since...you heard the bad news?"

"Uh...yeah. I must have. I remember throwing up a burrito. And...oh, I had a hot dog. A real one, not a turkey dog. They're...pointless."

Joan begins to weep. Grace doesn't know why, but she is use to drying-out crying jags, usually accompanied by apologies and promises to do better. But this...if Joan really has had almost nothing to eat in...17 (?) days!

"Okay, we're going to get you up to bed, and then you are going to eat."

"Bring a bucket. I'll throw it up."

"We will risk it." Grace says as she climbs the stairs alongside the rail chair. She is glad that the wheelchair modifications to the house were never reversed.

X X X X X

Arriving home from church an hour and a half later, Helen and Luke Girardi enter the house from the back door. They see Grace just finishing breast feeding Annie. Luke comes near and kisses Grace before she hands their daughter to him. While Grace covers up, Luke takes Annie and burps her. After that, she giggles and kisses her daddy's cheek.

Helen asks, "Hey Grace, how is Eleanor doing?"

"Just fine. I fed and changed her first."

"Was she fussy?"

"No more than usual."

"And Will...?"

"He got called away by the office. Mama Girardi...Joan is home."

Helen breathes an enormous sigh of relief before murmuring, "Thank you, God."

Luke asks, "When did she get back?"

"About 15 minutes after you guys left for church."

"Why didn't you call us?"

"I kinda had my hands full."

Helen comments as she heads for the stairs, "I have to see her."

"Mama Girardi...wait. Helen!"

Helen pauses, hearing the concern in Grace's voice.

"Joan is sleeping. Besides, there are some things I need to tell you first."

"Such as?"

"Joan has been drinking."

Helen gulps hard and asks, "A lot?"

"She stopped a couple of days ago, but is still not fully sober."

"After two days?"

Grace nods. "Joan consumed so much liquor, she nearly drank herself to death. It takes a long time to get that much alcohol out of your system. And...she's malnourished. She's barely eaten since Jimmy died."

Helen sits, tears in her eyes. "All of this over...that man. We have to get some food in her."

"I already did. It was touch and go, but Joan managed to hold down a little cream of wheat with a mashed banana."

"Is that all?"

"We're lucky she kept that down. With all the drinking and vomiting she's done, she must have damaged her stomach lining."

Luke questions, "Should Joan be in a hospital?"

Grace shakes her head. "Probably not. She made it home on her own, and in another day she will be fully sober. Just to be safe, she should be checked out by a doctor tomorrow, but right now, what she needs is rest."

Helen sighs. "Thank you Grace for handling this. I'm going up to see Joan now, but I'll be sure not to wake her."

As Helen mounts the stairs, Luke whispers, "Grace, how bad is it? Really."

"Joan was worse than I ever saw my mother."

X X X X X

As the day progresses, calls and e-mails are sent out to various friends and family letting everyone know the prodigal daughter has returned. Joan is allowed to sleep as much as possible, and has a small dinner of a bowl of soup and crackers brought to her on a tray in her room. No one tries to get Joan to talk or explain her behavior - it is too soon for that. The Girardi house is a quiet but happier place that evening as Will & Helen, with Luke & Grace, settling in the living room after dinner. Baby monitors keep check on the sleeping babies upstairs. As the four Girardis softly talk among themselves, all express relief about Joan's return, but confusion about how this whole horrible mess was possible. As they have for nearly every night since they heard of the sudden engagement and then death, they wonder how Joan could have been so swept up in a summer fling that she would resort to this behavior, no matter how badly it ended...

"I want to answer that."

The foursome turn as one and see Joan, weak but determined, slowly making her way toward them. Will hurries forward and lends a grateful Joan an arm to help steady her. Joan comes to rest in a chair near the fireplace. Joan hands Will an envelope filled with photographs and asks him to pass them around. Joan is aware that her family has in the back of their minds the idea that her relationship with Jimmy was sad but...silly. A school girl crush. A brief romance gone horribly awry. But certainly nothing worth the pain and fear everyone has experienced with Joan's extraordinary, almost mad reaction of grief.

"I'm so sorry for what I've put all of you through. It was inexcusable. But I want you to understand... To grasp what Jimmy Tubbs meant to me."

Slowly, steadily for about a half hour, Joan talks of Jimmy and their time together. She glosses over the romantic fun of their dating. That would be expected in any young romance. Instead she speaks of the man. Jimmy Tubbs, a man of strength, not just physically but also in spirit and character. A man of courage and dedication. An undeniable man's man who had at the core of his being a kind and gentle soul. A loving man who was not only a wonderful lover, but someone who connected with her soul on every level. A man who loved her with every fiber of his being and whom she in turn loved with an equal intensity. Yes, their time together was all too brief, but it was the most real, loving experience any couple could have no matter how long they were together.

Joan concludes with, "I just wanted you to know."

As Joan leaves them, riding the rail chair back upstairs, they finally understand. This was no temporary moment of summer time vacation fun. It had been as real and true as anything can be. They know now that if fate had not intervened, Joan and her Jimmy would have happily spent their entire lives together. Helen and Grace begin to cry, and their husbands do their best to comfort them while they too shed silent tears.

X X X X X

Near the end of the night, Helen enters Joan's bedroom and finds her daughter looking through her collection of photographs of Jimmy. Helen sits beside the bed and hands Joan a glass of a concentrated nutritional drink. Joan sighs and accepts it, drinking slowly and carefully in case her tender stomach rebels.

Helen cautiously asks, "Are you doing okay? Do you need the bucket?"

Joan shakes her head. "No, it seems to be staying down. Mom...I'm sorry for what I put you through."

"I know Joan, and I'm sorry I didn't understand." (Helen picks up one of the photos of Jimmy.) "He sounds like an amazing guy."

"He was." Joan replies, her lip trembling.

"Joan, I...want to talk to you seriously about what happened after you heard the news about Jimmy. I need to know...did you try to kill yourself?"

Joan stares down at the photos scattered on her bed. "Harsh truth or sugar coated?"

Helen sighs. "Harsh truth."

"When Collin - Jimmy's partner - and the others told me about Jimmy's death, I lost it. That's not unexpected, I suppose. But when I started to come to grips with that horrible truth, and when I heard the details of how Jimmy died, something changed. I got really calm and focused. I knew what I had to do. I got those men out of the house as quickly as I could, and then packed my bags. I had to get away... Away from the house, away from Miami, away from anything that reminded me of Jimmy so I could stay focused. I had one task I had to complete, and then I was going to get the hell out of Florida as fast as I could."

Helen responds, "We know you turned in your rental car the next day in Jacksonville, and took the maximum cash advance you could get on the credit card Kevin gave you. After that, the trail went cold. You're an adult, so you couldn't be listed as a runaway,and there was no evidence of any crime, so no official police effort could be made. Your father personally called every police chief from here to Florida and asked as a favor that the cops watch for any sign of you."

"I figured Dad would do something like that, which was why I was paying cash for everything and even took the battery out of my cell phone. I wanted to be alone. I was so miserable, so much in pain, all I could think of was to dull that pain as much as possible. I found the most obscure hole possible, one with a nearby liquor store that didn't bother to check i. d.'s, and I started to drink - a lot. When I was drunk, completely drunk, the pain was almost gone. Every time I started to sober, I would drink again until I passed out."

"Did you know...the risk?"

"If you mean was it a deliberate plan to kill myself, then no. But, at some point I realized that was what I was doing...and I didn't care."

"Oh Joan..."

"You said not to sugar coat it."

Helen nods. "So what changed two days ago?"

"The day started just like all the rest - me passed out and my tutor knocking on the door. Normally he taps on the window, but the motel's windows are sealed. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get there, and when I had the door open, he just stood there looking down at me...saying nothing."

"From your description of him: 25 feet tall, jet black with six wings and glowing eyes, that must have been an intimidating sight."

"It use to be. I just yelled at him to leave me alone. He still wouldn't say anything, but I could sense something from him - something new. Something I never thought he was capable of."

"What?"

"Sympathy. He actually felt sorry for me. I didn't care. I still sent him away. He walked off, unfurling his wings for flight, but then... Do you remember me saying that I've always wanted to see the inside of his wings?"

Helen nods. "To see if they matched the biblical description of there being eyes on the inside."

"Well, I guess it was a gesture on his part. He turned around, and by the light of the dawn I clearly saw the wings..."

"And...?"

"Eyes. Lots of them." (Joan shudders.) "Gross."

"Was that what changed things for you?"

"Nah, I just shut the door and headed for my last bottle of booze. But, as I passed the mirror, I saw Reflection God."

"The version that is your own mirror image talking to you?"

"Yeah, except she pulled a different stunt this time. I guess because I was naked and gross looking, she appeared just as I looked that first day at Arcadia High when I met Cute Boy God. The same clothes, the same innocent face that had no idea what kind of misery was ahead. I told God we were done."

"Joan...you didn't mean that."

"Yes, I did and I do mean it. I'm through being an 'instrument of God'."

"How did God react?"

"Ignored it like I hadn't said it. She told me it was time to stop my self-destructive behavior. I said: 'Make me'. Bad mistake when you're talking to God. Jimmy's image appeared in the mirror on God's right hand side. It shocked and angered me. I fell to my knees, accusing God of being cruel for the reminder of what I had lost. But then...I found out it wasn't just an image. Jimmy began to speak to me."

Helen shakes her head. "I can't imagine how I would react in a situation like that."

"I demanded God give Jimmy back to me."

"Joan...that's too much. You couldn't really believe God would restore Jimmy to life?"

"I did. God has the power to do that, and she owed me a favor... I'll explain that later. I really thought I could have Jimmy back, but God said no."

"Why?"

"That's what I asked. God couldn't do it because of free will. Jimmy didn't want to come back."

"But if he loves you...?"

"Again, that's what I said, and Jimmy swore he still loves me, but heaven changes your perspective. Jimmy tried to explain it, but words are inadequate to describe how wonderful heaven is. But even though it is a place of joy beyond description, Jimmy would have come back for me if there wasn't one other thing. Time. God once told me it was a human invention. In heaven, with eternity before you, our life spans here seem like a blink of the eyes. Time has virtually no meaning in heaven. From Jimmy's perspective, it made no sense for him to have to again endure the struggle of this physical life when I was going to be with him at any moment - from that eternal perspective."

"That's a little hard to grasp."

"I know, but I trust Jimmy. I can't judge what he is experiencing without being there too. Besides, Jimmy pointed out that we were still connected, and always would be."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"In that half sober moment, and for the first time since I heard the news - not feeling the agony of missing him, I could feel Jimmy's love enveloping me. It is like being in his arms and feeling the depth of his love. It's...wonderful." (Joan pauses to wipe away a few tears.) "Now, whenever I calm myself and let life stop distracting me, I feel Jimmy with me, fully with me. I know it's not the same as being able to physically touch him, but in some ways I'm closer to Jimmy than ever before."

"Joan, that's amazing. That's why you were able to come back to us?"

"It was the start. Jimmy told me the devil has been bragging in the spirit world how he beat me. How an instrument of God had been reduced to a pool of tears, pain and misery. That he won. Jimmy encouraged me to get back on my feet to show the devil he hadn't won. But he did win. I cherish my connection to Jimmy, and I will always remember our time together with love and happiness, but the fact is the devil took that from me. I can't deny his victory."

"I'm not sure I agree with that."

"Yeah, I know that in the long run the devil loses in the end, but that doesn't put Jimmy back into my arms. That doesn't give me a chance to have a lifetime with the man I love, or have a chance to bear his children. But in the end I came back for Jimmy's sake. Because we are so connected, Jimmy was experiencing the misery I was putting myself through. I was causing him pain, and I knew you guys were hurting too, so I had to come back. I knew for the sake of my family and for Jimmy, I had to at least go through the motions of trying to live what's left of my life."

Helen hugs Joan, wishing she could take all of this pain away. "At least you are back, and starting to heal. I know it will take a long time, but someday you won't just be 'going through the motions'. You will live, and yes, even enjoy your life."

Joan nods. "I hope you're right, but right now, it doesn't seem possible. But I promise, I'll try and I promise, no more self-destruction."

They hug again, and Helen heads for the door. Just as she touches the doorknob, a thought occurs to her...

"A task. You said before you left Miami, you had a task to complete. What was it?"

"I went to the scene where Jimmy was killed. It was in front of a coffee shop where cops often came because they offer half priced drinks to police in uniform. It was hours after the crime, night time, and everyone was gone. I stood right where Jimmy died, and I could sense his last thought was of me..." (Joan's voice trembles.) "Then I went to stand where the sniper was that shot Jimmy. I got the 'scent' of his particular brand of evil, and I tracked him down. I caught up with him at his own house just before dawn the next day."

Helen frowns. "I didn't hear anything about Jimmy's murderer being caught."

Joan looks away, her face cold and hard. A feeling of dread comes over Helen.

"Joan...?"

"I wasn't there to capture him. I came to kill him."

To Be Continued. Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Helen Girardi enters the master bedroom and sees her husband Will on his cell phone. She goes to their bathroom and prepares for bed. By the time she gets back, Will is off the phone and waiting for Helen…

"How's our girl? Any better?"

"Joan fell asleep while speaking to me. I don't think she has much left in energy reserves, and I didn't want to push it." Helen replies as she thinks of how much she wished she could continue her conversation with Joan. To say the least, it left her wanting to know more.

"Give it time. Joan went through a lot, and it will take a long while before she gets back to normal. Did she mention if she will be going back to college this semester?"

"We didn't get around to that. Mostly we discussed…Jimmy."

Will nods, sadness on his face. "Yeah, that's a rough one. I wish I had realized just how serious and intense of a situation it was for Joan. Maybe if we had been more open to the idea of that engagement, Joan would have felt more comfortable turning to us for comfort instead of alcohol. You don't think…she has a drinking problem?"

"I don't think so. This was a one time reaction to the worse heartbreak she has ever had. I know it were I in her shoes, I wouldn't handle it any better."

"I think you would. You have more life experience, and more responsibilities to ground you. For instance…" Will points to the nearby crib.

Helen goes to the crib and looks at her latest child. She smiles at this connection to young life even as she feels unease about Eleanor's future. "She is sleeping, but she's restless as usual. I can't help but wonder why she seems so unhappy all of the time. None of our other kids were like this at her age."

Will shrugs. "Every child is different. I remember when I was a young father, it amazed me I could see a definite personality developing in Kevin at an age I thought impossibly too young. It's like they are born a certain way, and only a little of what we do shapes the outcome."

Helen nods, wishing she could hold Eleanor, but she is a very fussy baby who doesn't like to be disturbed for any reason. To pick her up now would mean at least a couple of hours of loud, heartbreaking crying.

"Will, would you do me a favor?"

"Is this going to be something expensive?"

"Nothing like that. I know the local party leaders have been pushing you to accept the nomination for mayor, and I know you've been resisting the effort. I…want you to give it serious consideration. I think you should run for mayor."

"Helen, why? I'm no politician."

"I know, and you were always happiest as a detective in the field, but you've acknowledged you are pass the age where you can do that effectively. Police chief is a good job, but it has its' own level of politics that you have to deal with, and plenty of red tape that you hate. If you are going to have to deal with all of that anyway, why not do it as mayor, and avoid the risk of being a cop?"

"Is this about what happened to Joan?"

Helen nods. "My little girl is living the nightmare that I have dreaded ever since you put on a badge. For years and years I've waited for that knock on the door that will tell me of you dying in the line of duty. Will, we have a new baby at a pretty late time in our lives, and I can't face the prospect of raising Eleanor alone. Not at this age. I couldn't do it."

"Helen, aren't you letting your imagination run a little wild? Sure there are risks for anyone wearing a badge, but I'm the police chief, not a cop on the beat. I'm more likely to be in danger driving in rush hour traffic than I am in my job."

"You were police chief when the Ramsey kid pulled a gun on you. You were the police chief when you were taken hostage and nearly died. You were police chief when Ryan Hunter blew up an office building with you in it. When is the last time the mayor of this city faced those kinds of risks?"

"Okay, you have a few examples, but those are the exceptions. Most days I don't get out of the office as I deal with budgets and planning schedules. I supervise the ones taking the risks, but I almost never take them myself."

"You still carry a gun. You still answer calls if you happen to be in the vicinity. Today, on a Sunday, you were called out into the field for some reason. I never got around to asking… What was that about?"

Will hesitates, and Helen can tell it is bad news. "A local businessman was attacked this morning as he arrived at his place of business."

"That required the police chief to handle?"

"It was someone we know. This morning at the back entrance of the Franklin Gallery, Ken Thompson was attacked by someone with a machete."

"Oh God, Ken? Is he okay?"

"He's alive. Somebody struck him on the right wrist with the machete just as Ken was about to go into the gallery. The blow almost cut Ken's hand off. The call I just got was the detective on the case telling me Ken is out of surgery and doing well. They saved the hand, and the surgeons believe he will regain partial use of it."

Helen sits on the bed looking shocked. "I can't believe this. Ken is right handed, and a good artist in his own right. Without full use of that hand…"

"He will still be able to function with the left hand, and with what ever level of use he has with the right one."

"But it won't be the same. This is crazy. I was talking to Ken just yesterday. He's restoring an 18th century frame for the portrait I'm doing of Congressman Lewis and his wife. They are to go together as part of a set—a present for the Congressman's wife on her 30th birthday this Friday. Ken said he was a little behind on the project. That must be why he was at the gallery on a Sunday morning."

"I'll add that to the information in the report, if Ken hasn't already told Detective Rodriguez about it."

"Has the culprit been caught?"

"Got away clean. A security camera caught a brief image of someone medium height and build wearing a ski mask, but it was no real help in catching the attacker. As Ken recovers, we will be able to question him more thoroughly. Maybe he can give us a clue as to who would want to hurt him."

Helen nods as she lays down next to Will, and he holds her in his arms. It is such a violent world, and the more she thinks about it, the more convinced she is Will needs to get out of the cop business.

X X X X X

8-6-07/Monday morning.

"Uh-oh."

Helen reacts quickly, and has the bucket under Joan's chin before the spew of vomit comes. Joan's appetite was returning, and Helen was glad to see her daughter eat so heartily - until now. At least there is a lot less blood this time.

"Sorry, Mom." Joan says as she wipes her chin with a napkin.

Helen sighs. "It looks like you lost your entire breakfast."

"I can't seem to handle the volume, and those eggs were so tasty." Joan responds.

"Let's try the nutritional supplement again. You did well with that last night."

Joan begins to sip the flavored drink, and this time it stays down. Mother and daughter breathe a sigh of relief.

"So far, so good." Joan notes.

"That's a relief. You have an appointment with Dr. Peterson this afternoon, and I want to hear the report of what he has to say about your stomach."

"You're not going to be there?"

"I wish I could, but something has come up, and I have an appointment of my own that I can't miss. Luke will drive you."

"Okay. I'm sure I'll be fine with time."

"Yes... Joan, about last night...?"

"I figured you'd want to finish that conversation. Sorry for falling asleep on you. To answer the number one thing you're worried about, no - I didn't kill the guy that murdered Jimmy. I wanted to. I know how. But I couldn't bring myself to do it because when I got there...I realized the truth of what happened. Jimmy died because of me."

"That can't be true."

"Oh, it is. You see, when I was in L. A. I did something really drastic - I don't want to discuss what - but, it gave the devil an opportunity to get by the spiritual shield that normally protects me. A one time small opening in my spiritual armor. He bragged he would make me miserable, and he did."

"Joan...you've met the devil?"

"Uh yeah, a few times. I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure how you would take it. You were already freaking out about a giant angel tapping on my window every morning."

Helen looks to the window the angel normally taps on. Joan has a sign posted that says: Go Away! "Smart call. Go on."

"When I was in Miami, God asked me to do him a favor. It was phrased that way because he promised I could have the summer off without any assignments. I now realize God wanted me in the position of having a promised reward I could call on. You see, God swore he would do his best to mitigate the devil's one chance at me, and the favor gave him that legal right to intervene. During my stay, we talked about this and God reminded me of the favor more than once while also telling me to cherish every moment with Jimmy because it goes by so fast..."

Helen sighs hard, looking very sad. "You were suppose to ask for protection for Jimmy."

"See? You got it right off, but there I was with these boulder-sized hints, and I missed it."

"Is that why you are resigning from God's service? Because you're mad that he didn't give you a clearer warning?"

"No. I'm not mad at God, or even disappointed. I've been at this long enough to know that this is his way. The blunt, straight out warning has never been his style. He has always used hints, metaphors and illustrations to get his point across. I know that is his way. He didn't change the rules on me. I just got careless because I was distracted."

"You were a young woman falling in love."

"And it got Jimmy killed. That's why I have to quit. I'm in over my head, and before anyone else dies because of my carelessness, I have to step aside. Like with the guy that killed Jimmy. I caused that. When we were on the way to visit Aunt Nell, we stopped at a diner and I spotted a potential risk. One of those angry, bitter guys who is convinced that the world, especially those in authority, are in a conspiracy against him. A cropduster named 'Lefty'. I pointed out the guy to Jimmy, and he copied down Lefty's license plate number. But Lefty noticed and copied down Jimmy's."

"And just for that, Lefty killed Jimmy?"

"No, there was more to it than that. Lefty was a ticking timebomb that eventually would have exploded into some act of violence, but it might not have happened for years. When I caught the scent of evil where Jimmy was murdered, it seemed familiar. It took me awhile, but I finally found Lefty at his home getting ready for the next part of his plan. After Jimmy's death, there was a huge funeral planned for him where all kinds of cops and politicans were going to show up. Lefty was going to use his cropdusting plane to gas everyone there and kill them."

Helen gasps, "Dad and Leona attended that funeral. So did your Aunt Theresa who came as moral support for Jimmy's mother, and...my sister and her family were there too. Oh God!"

"Yeah, it was going to be a spectacular moment of revenge by the devil."

"The devil...?"

"Yeah, when I cornered Lefty, and was about to kill him, I realized what had changed about him. Before, there was no demonic energy around the guy. He was just crazy and mean with a complete disregard for all human life, other than his own. He was a prime candidate for a demon, but until I encountered him, none had ever tried to get their hands on Lefty. But when I met him for that second time, there was a level of demonic evil around him that was way beyond anything I have ever encountered before. He wasn't posessed, but with a guy like him, influence was enough. Lefty wasn't under the influence of any of the petty demons I've been use to dealing with. This was a prince of the devil's kingdom who had been dispatched to influence one man. Normally such a being holds sway over entire regions, formenting things like wars and genocide, but it had been sent by the devil to influence only one guy. That 'prince' must have had his pride hurt to be lowered to such a lowly task, but you need a lot of power to get someone - even someone like Lefty - to commit mass murder."

"Is that why you didn't kill this 'Lefty'?"

"Yeah, I saw my mistake had brought this about, and I wasn't going to hand the devil a second victory by becoming a murderer. I restrained Lefty, a little roughly I'll admit, and I put in a call to Homeland Security."

"Why them?"

Joan hesitates, remembering her mother is unaware of the dealings Joan has had with Homeland Security since the Ryan Hunter war. "Uh, it was their jurisdiction. An act of planned domestic terrorism. Fortunately, Lefty was the obsessive type who wrote everything down in minutely detailed plans. That's why you haven't heard of Lefty's arrest. It may be a long time before the government lets out the details of this, if ever."

Helen nods, thinking about what Joan has said. "Joan, I understand that you want to take all of the blame for this, but aren't you being unfair with yourself? If it hadn't been for you, that crazy man would have killed a lot more people, including members of your family."

"I know, but I've used that same arguement too many times to justify going on. I should have taken God up on his offer when I got out of high school and he said I could retire from the job of being his 'instrument'. Maybe he was just being polite when he offered me the chance to continue? I don't know, maybe I was suppose to do better than I have? Certainly my tutor has been unimpressed with me. But now I've learned my lesson. A good man, a man I love is dead because of me. I meant it when I said I was done. I'm not mad at God, I haven't stopped believing, but I can't go on serving."

"But what about the spiritual gifts God gave you? Are they still there?"

"Oh yeah, they're still there. God doesn't snatch back what he has freely given. My ability to read people has become such a part of me, I've been doing it automatically. But, if I concentrate, I can block it out. It's exhausting, but in time that will become my norm and this 'gift' will fade into the background. A civilian like me doesn't need it."

Helen thinks Joan is wrong, but realizes this is not the moment to argue the point. Certainly she would never give up her gift of divinely inspired dreams. Maybe in time...?

X X X X X

Early that afternoon Luke Girardi drives his Jeep through downtown traffic while casting occasional glances at his sister. Joan rides with her eyes closed, suffering mild nausea. Luke feels curiously estranged from Joan. After growing up side by side their whole lives, this past year they have barely seen each other. Between the long separation during this summer, his year at M. I. T. and devoting every possible moment to his young family, his close bond with Joan seems weakened. He isn't sure what to say...

"Uh, Joan..."

"Luke, it you're about to tell me how sorry you are about Jimmy, I already know. I appreciate it, but I'd rather not discuss him right now."

"Oh, okay. How's the stomach?"

"Queasy. It also burns, as does my throat. How about a new topic... How was your summer?"

"Profitable. Friedman and I teamed up in our own little I. T. business. Mostly we helped individuals and small businesses with installing new equipment, getting rid of viruses and designing websites."

Joan nods. "I know Friedman is really good at that stuff. I seek him out for any computer problems I have. Is he still hooked up with Dillon Samuels?"

"Yes, although I don't understand why."

Joan shrugs. "She's pretty, nice and uncomplicated. That's probably a relief to him after interacting with fellow eggheads all day."

"Perhaps, but her company isn't the most stimulating in the group when the four of us go out."

"You and Grace double date with them?"

"Every week or two. I encourage it so Grace can get a break from constant child care."

"Who takes care of Annie?"

"Mom and Dad or Grace's parents."

"I'm amazed Grace agreed to that."

"I knew Grace was becoming much too overprotective of Annie, so I put my foot down."

"YOU, put your foot down with Grace?"

Luke grins. "Occasionally Grace allows me to do that, especially when she sees I have a valid point. For instance, I have insisted that Annie's breast feeding days come to a close when she turns one year old. Grace isn't happy with that, but she sees the sense of it."

"Maybe, but it must be hard for Grace to give up such a bonding moment between her and Annie. Grace has definitely gone way more 'mom mode' than I ever would have expected from her earlier days. And Annie, I can't believe how much she has grown in just the two months I was gone. Does she still play her 'pointing' game?"

"Not any more."

"Annie gave it up? She seemed to enjoy it so much."

"Annie tricked everyone she knows with her game, and now no one will play it with her. We have all caught on to Annie desperately pointing at something across the room so she can get you to carry her over to the object. When you get there, she laughs at having tricked you because she was never interested in the object in the first place."

"It's funny."

""Perhaps, but I'm not sure I want Annie to think fooling people, playing games on them, is acceptable."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed."

"Well, I was hoping when I got better, Annie and I could play the game again."

Luke smiles. "Okay. I suppose we can make an exception for Annie's favorite aunt."

Briefly, Joan smiles.

X X X X X

Meanwhile, Helen endures for the second time an elaborate security search and pat down before being allowed to enter the offices of Arcadia's congressman, P. Lloyd Lewis. The first security check as she entered the federal building was mild compared to the second one in the foyer of the congressman's office. As a guard escorts her from the foyer to the congressman's secretary, Helen is aware she is being constantly monitored by security cameras. Helen knows she lives in a high security era, but Congressman Lewis seems to have a particularly high level of paranoia.

"Hello Mrs. Girardi, how nice to see you again." the congressman's secretary says with a practiced smile.

"Hello Mrs. Musso. The congressman is expecting me?"

"Yes ma'am, we were able to squeeze you in for a brief meeting. Please be aware the congressman's schedule is tight, so please no excessive chit chat. Okay?"

The question and the accompaning phony smile are a formality.

"Of course."

An armed guard escorts Helen into the office and then takes a post by the door. Another guard is already in the office watching from the opposite corner. Congressman Lewis stands and comes around from his desk with his hand extended. The 34 year old Lewis is a man of medium height, slender, with wavy blond hair and a dazzling smile. They shake hands and Helen is again struck by how charismatic her congressman is. No wonder he wins elections so easily. Few constituents spend enough time with the man to realize what a self-serving weasel he really is. After several meetings with Lewis, Helen has come to regret voting for him in the last two elections.

"Helen, how nice to see you again. How goes the portrait work?"

"Almost done. I have just a few finishing touches before the painting of you and your wife is finished."

"And it will be ready for my wife's birthday party on Friday night?"

"Yes..."

"Excellent. Can I expect your husband to attend also?"

"It's on Will's schedule, providing nothing job related calls him away."

Lewis nods. "I admire Will's dedication, as does the entire community. Tell me, is Will finally going to get off the fence and declare himself a candidate for mayor?"

"He's still considering his options."

"Not for much longer, I hope. Organizing a winning campaign takes time, and Will wouldn't want to miss out on this opportunity. '08 is definitely Will's best chance if he is serious about the mayor's job. The party is ready to back him, and I will be giving him my personal endorsement."

"That's very kind of you, Congressman."

"There's nothing 'kind' about it. Arcadia is the main city in this district, and it is embarrassing, not to mention career limiting, to have this town known as the most corrupt city in America. 2008 will be our first chance to put a newly elected mayor into office since the fall of the old mayor and the subsequent Ryan Hunter scandal. The sterling reputation of Will Girardi, not to mention the status of your daughter..."

"What's that? What would Joan have to do with any campaign by Will?"

Congressman Lewis shrugs. "Will may have brought down the old corrupt government, but it was our acknowledged town hero Joan Girardi who brought down Ryan Hunter. Will needs Joan standing by him on the campaign trail in order to assure a Girardi victory. I assume Joan is keeping herself scandal free? Because it would be refreshing to have an honest mayor for a change."

Helen pauses, trying to control her temper at this cynical suggestion of using Joan like that. "You mean with an honest mayor, you won't have to worry about any scandals in your power base when you decide to run for governor or senator."

Lewis smiles and nods. "I won't deny that possibility. And of course I would expect 'Honest Will Girardi' to reciprocate at the appropriate time with an endorsement of his own. Well, you know the old saying about hands washing each other?"

Helen tries not to grit her teeth. "Of course. Now Congressman, I didn't actually come here to talk about next year's election. You may not have heard, but Ken Thompson was attacked yesterday outside the rear entrance to the Franklin Gallery."

"Yes, I heard. Ken's right hand was badly injured, and he's at University Hospital recovering. I had my secretary send flowers."

"Did you know Ken's restoration work on your antique frame is not yet done?"

Lewis frowns. "No, I did not."

"I visited Ken in the hospital this morning. The doctors are encouraging about his recovery, but of course there's no chance he can finish the restoration in time."

P. Lloyd Lewis' face goes cold and hard. "I see. Mrs. Girardi, let me make myself clear. I'm a man of my word, and I hold all others to that same standard. When I found that old frame in a junk shop for only fifty bucks, I took it as a sign as to what to get my wife for her 30th birthday. Properly restored, that frame will be worth ten thousand dollars. Shelley is ecstatic about my gift. We posed for you, I paid you double your normal commission to assure a timely delivery, and I expect that painting in that frame on Friday night. You and Ken Thompson signed a joint contract with me assuring all would go well. If both items are not at that party, in perfect condition, my word to my wife will be broken. If that happens, I will sue both Ken and you."

Helen gulps. "Congressman, be fair. I can fulfill my part, but Ken...?"

"I assume Ken has an assistant?"

"Well yes, a young and inexperienced one."

"Then you better hope and pray that this 'young and inexperienced' assistant can hit a home run the first time off the bench. Disappoint my wife and me, and not only will I sue for at least triple damages, but I will make certain your husband's political career has no future. Am I clear?" (Helen nods.) "Good. We are done. Good day Mrs. Girardi."

Helen's escort guard steps next to her, and she hastily exits. Helen wonders how badly she has erred in encouraging Will to consider local politics.

X X X X X

"Joan, what the hell have you been doing to yourself?"

"Drinking, Dr. Peterson." Joan replies, already exhausted from a thorough exam and several tests.

"That much I figured out." Peterson says as he reviews Joan's file. "You college kids, you think you're immortal. Binge drinking is dangerous."

Joan doesn't try to correct her doctor. "That much I've figured out. How bad am I?"

"I've seen worse. You've done moderate damage to your stomach lining and esophagus, but those will heal in time. However, I am concerned by your general state of health. When you had your physical back in May, you had a body most professional athletes would envy. Your pulse and blood pressure were superb, and your weight and muscle tone perfect. But now your weight and blood pressure are up - not to dangerous levels - but still, a disturbing trend. Worse, your body is starting to show signs of getting a little...flabby. How long has it been since you exercised?"

Joan shrugs. "Around three weeks."

"That's all? You don't usually see this much decline unless a patient has been bed-ridden."

Another shrug.

Dr. Peterson sighs. "Fine. I have a prescription for you. It's a liquid acid reducer with an added pain reliever. One tablespoon before each meal. I also have an info sheet for a bland diet - five very small meals per day. If you have trouble keeping down your food, you may continue with the liquid nutritional supplement, but I prefer you to try real food. If you have any increase in discomfort, call me. Otherwise, come back for a follow up in two weeks."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Joan, as you get your strength back, you may want to try a little walking for exercise. But no more drinking parties, understand?"

"Don't worry. It will be a helluva long time before I take another drink."

X X X X X

Getting very tired now, Joan has Luke stop at a nearby pharmacy before the return home. Luke offers to go in for Joan, but there are some personal items you don't send a brother after...

"And have we filled prescriptions for you before, Miss Girardi?" the Asian-American pharmicist behind the counter asks.

"It's been awhile."

"Yes...I see you in our computer. This will take about 20 minutes."

"I'll be in the store."

Joan begins drifting up and down the store aisles. Let's see...a little concealer - her skin tone still looks like death warmed over. A package of feminine hygenie items for whenever her period decides to show up. Joan knows her menstrual cycle is notoriously irregular. Sometimes early, frequently late and at least a couple of times per year, she misses a month altogether. Then...hey, they have Charelston Chews! Joan hasn't had this particular candy in a long time, and suddenly she experiences an intense craving for chocolate. Get one or two...or maybe a half dozen. Joan hopes her tummy can handle the candy.

Joan continues along the aisles. Magazines? Nah, that gossip stuff just doesn't interest her any more. Huh, they have home pregnancy test kits at half price. Must be near expiration. Joan picks one up and checks the date - no, still good. Joan sighs. Too bad she doesn't need one of these. How she would love to be carrying Jimmy's child. But no, even though her period is way late, it's just wishful thinking on her part. She and Jimmy were careful to use protection every time. Besides, think of what all of that alcohol she consumed would do to developing fetal tissue...

"Girardi." the pharmicist calls out.

Joan puts back the test kit and hurries to complete her purchases.

To Be Continued. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

8-7-07/Tuesday.

"Hello? Is anybody back there?"

"Mrs. Girardi? Please come on back."

Helen makes her way through the incredible clutter of the third floor of the Franklin Gallery. Here there are countless items stored, most of it seeming to be junk. But once you got pass that area, you entered a large, well set up work space where the Gallery's restoration work is done. Helen sees a fairly attractive blonde woman in her mid-thirties at work on the congressman's 'precious' antique frame. Renee Sloan greets Helen with a smile…

"Already hard at it, as you can see."

"So Ken decided to have you complete the restoration work, Renee?"

"Yes, considering the time factor, it couldn't be done by anyone else and still beat the deadline. Mr. Thompson managed to get about two-thirds of the frame done before…the attack. I spoke with him this morning, and he said the doctors keep upgrading his chances for an almost full recovery."

"That's wonderful news. Uh Renee, about the frame…"

"You're worried I won't be able to live up to the congressman's rather obsessive requirements for perfection?"

"The man is…well yes, obsessive. The tiniest flaw and he might reject everything and sue us all."

Renee smiles. "I've heard of P. Lloyd Lewis' penchant for lawsuits. Trust me Mrs. Girardi, I'm being very, very careful with this work."

"So you think it's going well?"

"You tell me. Some of the finished work before you is mine, and the rest is Mr. Thompson's. Can you tell the difference?"

Helen pauses to look very closely at the 300 year old large, heavy mahogany frame with its' intricate scrollwork and electrum inlay. Prepared to be politely critical, Helen has to smile instead…

"I have to admit, it all looks top notch, very professional."

"Thank you. I know I haven't been at restoration work for a long time, but Mr. Thompson has been diligent in teaching me his techniques, and after all, he did hire me because I have a lot of experience with antiques. I may not be as fast as him, but I'm confident I can have this frame cleaned and repaired to Mr. Thompson's high standards."

"In time for the party Friday night?"

"I believe so. Barring any unforeseen complications, I should have this ready for your portrait by noon on Friday. How goes the the painting?"

"Almost done. I have just a couple of finishing touches, and then I have to let it all dry. It's the largest portrait painting I've ever done, in order to fit the huge frame, but it seems to have turned out well."

"I'm sure it's beautiful. I've seen your work here at the Gallery on several occasions, and I've always been impressed by your talent, Mrs. Girardi."

"Thank you. So, Friday at noon?"

"I'm sure we will be ready to mount your lovely painting into this fully restored frame. Will you need me to arrange a transport vehicle? It is quite large and heavy."

"I have a station wagon that should hold it comfortably, and I'll have my son or husband with me to help load it."

"Then I'll see you on Friday." Renee Sloan says as the two women shake hands.

X X X X X

In her bedroom, Joan goes over her list of calls and e-mails she has been making, answering the many worried people who were concerned during her disappearance. One long, heartfelt call to Kevin had them both in tears as he poured out his fear when he heard about his little sister going missing…

"Again Kev, I am so sorry. All I can say is that I stopped thinking clearly after I heard the news about…after I heard the news."

"I forgive you Joan, but please, no more disappearances. After the way you vanished for a couple of days when you were visiting us here in L. A., and then those two weeks when no one knew where you were…" Kevin's voice chokes off with emotion.

Joan, getting a little weepy, replies, "I am such a lousy sister. You were so kind to me, financing my summer vacation, and I abused that kindness terribly. I'm sorry, and I promise that someday, not anytime soon, but someday I will repay you for that cash advance I took on your credit card."

"Joan, you don't have to…"

"No. I went over the line, and I have to meet my obligations. It will take me a long time to save that much up, but I'm going to repay every penny."

Kevin sighs. "If you insist, but again, you don't have to. I'm still raking it in with my job on 'Improper' and, I'll be getting even more for this coming season. I'm being bumped up to producer."

"Kevin, that's fantastic."

Kevin chuckles. "Yeah, it is kinda awesome. Be sure to watch the new season. I have some killer ideas for plot twists and my patented surprise endings."

"I promise not to miss a single episode. Love you, Big Bro'."

"Love you too. Take care of yourself, please?"

"Not a problem. I have a feeling my life is going to be a lot calmer from now on."

With final farewells, Joan and Kevin disconnect. Joan looks over to her window with the : Go Away! sign and wonders if she should take it down. She has not heard from her tutor since the morning he showed her the inside of his wings—with all the eyes. (Shudder.) Nor has God made any attempt to contact her. Apparently he has accepted her resignation. Joan now wishes it had been done under better circumstances, and hopes God understands she isn't mad at him… Okay, a little disappointed, but not mad. But of course being God, he knows.

Joan turns to the next name on her list, Marcus Brodie. This will have to be a phone call, and Joan knows she will have a lot more apologizing to do. Grandpa must have been horribly freaked out when she disappeared like that, and she owes him a personal apology. Of course she owes a lot of people apologies, but a series of e-mails have made that easier… Like the one to Dylan Hunter, who had offered to come and search for Joan personally, and had only been dissuaded by Will Girardi's insistence he stay in California. Poor Dylan, how could she verbalize her feelings about Jimmy to him? Not after rejecting his proposal of marriage and then accepting Jimmy's less than a month later.

Joan's phone call to her grandfather goes better than hoped, but what did she expect, that he wouldn't forgive her?

"And it was a lovely ceremony, Joanie. The mayor was there, and police officers from all over the state were in attendance, with an honor guard and the news media…"

"Grandpa, those are some of the very reasons I couldn't face…the funeral."

Marcus sighs. "I know, and I understand. Jimmy was only a friend to me, and I found it so very hard to face. I realize how overwhelmed you were Joanie, as does everyone else. Jimmy's parents understood, and held no resentment. Those two even seemed to be getting along for the first time in years. It's a shame they could not have been like that when Jimmy was still with us. A lesson for us all."

"Cherish the time you have with those you love." Joan softly comments.

"Exactly. Now Joanie, I know you are still in mourning, and from what Helen tells me, recovering physically. But, there are some practical matters we have to discuss. I have assumed the role of your local legal representative, if that's okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Jimmy's estate. He left everything to you."

"Estate? I don't understand. We were only engaged, and that for just a few days. When could he have done this?"

"Apparently, the first day he was back at work. He went to the police department's personnel office and had you made beneficiary of his insurance, and on his lunch break he stopped at his lawyer's office and made out a simple will."

"I…had no idea."

"Of course it is not a huge estate. Besides the insurance, Jimmy mostly had a small bank account, a one year old Ford pickup and his house."

"So I inherit truck payments and a mortgage?"

"No, Jimmy was a responsible man. He had insurance on every debt so that in case he…died, it would all be paid off. Once the estate clears probate, everything he owned will be yours free and clear."

Joan pauses trying to wrap her mind around this news. "Grandpa, I don't feel right about this. I loved Jimmy and I appreciate he wanted to do this for me, but shouldn't his estate go to his parents?"

"They are both financially secure, and they were in complete agreement that Jimmy's wishes should be carried out. They took a few personal items from Jimmy's house, with my permission, but they want you to have the estate."

"I don't know if I can accept this Grandpa."

"Joanie, I know it is hard to think clearly at a time like this, but I have to insist you consider the practicalities. If nothing else, think of your parents."

"Mom and Dad? What do you mean?"

"Helen and Will just had another child. By the time Eleanor is at college age, they will be retired. They are facing an enormous financial burden at a time when they should be focused on saving for their retirement. Jimmy's estate could pay for your college fees and law school."

"It's that much?"

"Yes. It's hard to nail down exact figures, mostly due to the value of the house, but in the end it should all come to around a quarter of a million."

Joan gasps. "Wow, you're right. Mom and Dad could stop paying for me and use my college fund for E. T.'s."

"Are you still calling her that? Anyway, I'll be in touch later in the week as I get more details. You will have to start making decisions on whether you want to keep some of Jimmy's things or sell them all."

"Okay Grandpa, I'll give it some thought."

X X X X X

In Will's office, he is going over case updates with a few of his detectives including Lt. Chadwick (formerly Williams) and Detective Rodriguez...

"Still no progress on the attack of Ken Thompson. There were no threats, no known rivalries, rejected lovers, etectera. The only people to hold even the slightest grudge against Mr. Thompson are a few local artists that he rejected when they wanted their work displayed at his gallery. We have looked into most of them, but it seems a dead end. There just doesn't seem to be a motive for the attack." Rodriguez says.

Chadwick offers, "If there was another attack of a similar nature, I would be willing to chalk it up to a psycho roaming the streets, but there hasn't been another machete attack on anyone in Arcadia ever."

Will nods. "Just as well. I'd rather deal with an isolated incident than the possibility of a serial...'chopper'. I know we should put this one on the backburner due to a lack of leads, but I'd like us to keep at it a little longer. Ken Thompson is a personal friend of my wife's, and I know that shouldn't be a factor...but you make exceptions when you're married."

The gathered detectives nod and chuckle their understanding.

"Anything for you, Chief. That is, if we are still going to be calling you 'Chief' much longer. There was another editorial in the Free Press pushing for you to run for mayor. Rumor or...?" Rodriguez asks.

Will grins. "It's part of the campaign the party leaders having been waging to pressure me into trying for the job. They seem convinced I can win."

Chadwick says, "Not just win, but be a boon to this town's reputation. I know more than one person who is ashamed they are from Arcadia. When they travel, they list their home community as 'Hogan County Maryland'."

"Would you be one of those?" Will asks.

Chadwick smiles and nods. "Really, sometimes it is embarrassing to admit you are from Arcadia. If you were mayor Will, it would go a long way toward restoring a little community pride."

"Maybe, but what do I know about running a city?"

Rodriguez replies, "You manage a large part of the city government already. You're experienced with budgets, dealing with the public, managing staff, and you even are called on to give a lot of speeches. How is that different from being mayor?"

Chadwick adds, "And you're popular. People still remember how you brought down an incredibly corrupt government."

Will muses, "I do still get offered free pie from time to time."

The others chuckle and Wills adds, "Plus, Helen is worried about my safety even though I spend most of my days behind this desk."

Chadwick says, "Yeah, but it was less than a year ago when you were in a shoot-out with a bad guy."

"That's true. I guess I see Helen's point, even though it is mostly based on what happened to Joan."

Everyone in the room goes silent as they think of their own lives, loved ones and the risks they take.

Chadwick says, "Yeah, that was a hard break for anyone to endure. How is Joan?"

"Recovering. It will take time."

X X X X X

Joan rests on the small leather couch in the den. It has been a long, stressful day but she is finally done with her list of e-mails and phone calls to friends and family offering her apologies and hopes for their forgiveness. The call to Martha Danzig, Jimmy's mother, was the hardest. They both were soon crying and expressing their regrets as well as sharing remembrances. Martha assured Joan there was no resentment about Jimmy's estate, and invivted Joan to visit anytime she was in Chicago. Martha ended by profusely thanking Joan for providing her son his only experience with true love, even if it was only for a short time. Joan had to hang up quickly after that as the guilt was too much to endure. It was all Joan could manage not to shout out: 'If he hadn't met me, Jimmy would still be alive!'

Joan pauses to center herself. This business of having to put up barriers to block the flow of spiritual stimuli was exhausting. As Joan rests and begins to calm, she can once again feel Jimmy's love pouring out to her in a constant stream. It is always there, and she only has to take the time to feel that presence... A hand touches hers.

Joan opens her eyes and sees Annie standing while holding onto the coffee table. "Hey squirt, did you come to visit me?"

Annie holds out her arms and Joan lifts her niece onto her lap. "Oof, you're getting heavy."

Annie smiles and pokes Joan in the belly with her finger. She laughs.

"Yeah, I know. I'm still putting on weight despite this stupid restricted diet. I never realized how much the exercise was keeping off the ell-bees."

Annie becomes excited and looks around the room. She starts pointing at something on the desk.

"Oh, so you want to help me exercise by playing your pointing game? I promise to play it with you soon, but your Aunt Joan needs a little more time to rest and recover."

From the front of the house Joan hears Grace... "Annie? Annie, where are you?"

"In here, Grace." Joan calls out.

Grace enters the den and looks relieved when she sees Annie, but then gives her daughter a look of annoyance. "I swear, you turn your back on this kid for a split second, and she's halfway across the house."

"Yeah, I've seen how fast she can crawl. I also saw that she can stand now. Is she walking?"

"Sorta. Annie can pull herself up, but when she tries to walk she only manages one or two steps before she falls back on her...butt." Grace says as she remembers that is the condition she saw Joan in only a few days ago.

"Does she cry?"

"Annie? Nah, she almost never cries. Now if you want to see a crier, look to Eleanor. Man can that kid bawl."

"I hadn't noticed that since I've been back."

"That's because your mom and I have been careful to keep E. T. quiet and at a distance so you could rest."

"Hah! You called her E. T."

"Yeah, well you got that stuck in my brain when you nicknamed her the 'Little Alien'."

"That was wrong of me. It's just that I had this weird feeling that there was going to be something seriously wrong with the new baby."

Grace hesitates and then says with a sigh, "I think you were right. I don't have a lot of baby experience besides Annie, but there is something really wrong with your kid sister."

"In what way?"

"Well, it started when E. T. rejected Helen's milk. I know that happens sometimes, but Mama Girardi felt that it was because she was too old to be having another kid. It really made your mom sad. Then, when Eleanor wouldn't accept formula, we had to use my breast milk to feed her."

"Mom was grateful for that."

"I know, but down deep, I think she was also a little resentful having to rely on her daughter-in-law to feed her baby."

"Are you still breast feeding E. T.?"

"No, I'm using the breast pump to get milk, even though I hate that gizmo. It makes me feel like...a cow. Hey, don't smile at that. It's not funny."

"Sorry."

"Now Helen can bottle feed her baby and Annie has stopped giving me those strange looks when I breast fed her aunt."

"Which is a strange concept when you think about it. Speaking of strange, what else is so odd about my baby sister?"

"Well, the weirdest thing is that she doesn't like to be touched."

"Huh? I thought all babies liked to be held and cuddled."

"So did I, but not Eleanor. She doesn't even like being looked at, and if you try to hold her or play with her, she starts to cry. And I don't mean a little bit. When E. T. starts to cry, it goes on for hours. And if you try to calm her, she only gets more upset and cries all the harder. She keeps it up until she's coughing and gasping for air. It's really scary and heart breaking. So we are very careful not to disturb the kid."

"Maybe Eleanor is hyper sensitive to touch, or she has some sort of allergy to human skin contact?"

"We thought of that, but there are times when Eleanor lets you touch her with no problems. When she's being fed, changed, bathed, or dressed, Eleanor makes no fuss at all. But when you are done seeing to her needs, she starts to get fidgety. That's your warning sign to put her down within the next thirty seconds or she will explode into angry tears and wailing. What kind of baby is that?"

Joan muses on the question and then rephrases it in her head. What kind of person is that? Someone who holds sway as the center of the universe, concerned only with her needs and dismissive of emotional contact. Devoid of any feeling of attachment to others except as a source of serving what she wants. What sort of person...? A sociopath. Joan rejects the word, but the idea lingers in her mind.

"Hopefully it's just a phase. I'm sure in time E. T. will eventually warm up to people. Not every baby is as cheerful and outgoing as Annie. So tell me, how many words can my favorite niece say?"

"None."

"None? A baby as smart as Annie? She should be saying all kinds of things by now."

"We know, and we were so concerned about Annie's lack of talking, Luke and I took her to an audiologist to double check her hearing. No problems there, and obviously Annie can talk because she babbles on in baby chatter all the time. But when it comes to real words...nothing. Not a 'ma-ma' or a 'da-da' or even a 'bye-bye'. We can't figure it out."

"Hmm, let's see what the problem is."

Grace watches as Joan looks into Annie's eyes, and her daughter stares back transfixed. Grace starts to get that weird feeling again - the one that occurs a lot when you were hanging around Joan. Aunt and niece continue to stare into each other's eyes, and Grace could almost swear there was some sort of communication happening...

Joan smiles. "Oh, so that's it."

"What?" Grace asks and then mentally kicks herself for the question. Don't encourage the crazy.

"It seems Annie has decided she doesn't want to talk, at least for right now. She thinks life is great just as it is at this moment, and she doesn't want anything to change. So, no talking."

"The baby decided not-to-talk?" Grace asks, wondering just how far Joan has gone over the edge this time.

Joan nods and sighs as she looks again at Annie. "Sorry kiddo, but life doesn't work like that. One of your first life lessons will be that life is about change. You can't pause it or freeze it, and that's probably a good thing. That way you know when life is hard, it won't remain that way forever. And when life is good...very good, you know to cherish the time because that won't last either...no matter how desperately you wish it would...never change."

Quickly, Joan hands Annie to Grace and hurries from the room, crying. Annie watches her aunt's departure with concern on her face. She turns to Grace with an expression of inquiry...

"You didn't do anything wrong. Your Aunt Joan is just very sad right now, and it's going to be a long time before she is happy again."

Looking sad herself, Annie hugs her mama and Grace hugs back...

X X X X X

8-8-07/Wednesday.

God calls on Grace. Rising from her physical body, Grace realizes she is once again astral projecting, feeling that familiar 'tug' from God. As usual, Grace is allowed a moment to check on Luke and Annie and she also notes the time, three a. m. Grace goes up through the house and as she emerges into the sky, she wonders where she will be going this time. It could be anywhere in the world to witness almost anything (although Grace has become familiar with the pattern and knows it is usually not anything good). Grace's trip is quite short as she decends over the near downtown area of Arcadia, not far from the city's housing projects.

Grace finally hovers over a dark alley behind a liquor store. She sees a man dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt enter the alley carrying an old shoe box. He stops when a voice calls out...

"Far enough."

The man hesitates, and Grace would be jumping out of her skin if she weren't already out of it. That voice was loud, closeby and very creepy. It takes a moment for Grace to realize the voice is being distorted by one of those electronic gizmos that can make you sound almost like a robot. Someone doesn't want to risk having their voice recognized. Grace turns, but can barely make out a darkly dressed person standing in the shadows...

The mystery figure asks, "Do you have my item?"

The other man replies, "In the box. My money?"

"On the ground in the box next to you."

The guy leans down, but robot voice says, "Wait. Let me see the merchandise first."

The man with the shoe box glances at his mysterious customer and catches the glint of a gun barrel.

"Okay, okay no need for that. See? Just the way you wanted it." the man says as he opens the shoe box. Grace watches, and even though she is no expert, she easily identifies the item being sold as a bomb.

"With two timers?" robot voice asks.

"Yeah, set the one on the left and the other timer is automatically synchronized. That one you take with you, and you'll have an exact countdown so you'll know the precise moment when the bomb will go off. Now, about my money...?"

"Five thousand, as agreed."

The bomb salesman puts down the shoe box and opens the similar box next to it. He smiles at the pile of cash in small bills.

"We are done." robot voice says.

The bomb salesman nods and walks away, hoping he won't be doublecrossed and get shot in the back. He breathes a sigh of relief when he gets to his car and drives away. Grace is there and memorizes the license plate number. She turns but the robot voice guy is gone. Grace feels that tug again, and she returns to her physical form...

X X X X X

At midday, Will and Lt. Chadwick enter an interrogation room to find the suspect Curtis Washington, and his lawyer, waiting. The two cops sit opposite the other pair and smile confidently...

"My client demands to know why he has been brought in for questioning."

Will replies, "Mr. Kubiack, your client is a known dealer in small arms and explosives that he supplies to the city's various gangs for high fees."

"Rumor. Just because Curtis has a single conviction for unlawfully selling guns, he has for the rest of his life become a target for lazy cops who don't want to bother looking for any real culprits. What trumped up charge do you have now?"

Will removes from a folder a note in hand-blocked letters that is sealed in a plastic bag. "At sometime or another, most cops will get anonymous notes like this one accusing someone of a crime. I found this note on the windshield of my car this morning. It identifies, through his license plate number, your client as the seller of a bomb to someone at three a. m. behind Pankow's liquor store."

"An anonymous note? That's what this is about? We might as well leave now."

"If that was all we had, I wouldn't have bothered to call your client in for questioning."

Chadwick says, "We started checking out the information in the note. The security camera at the liquor store confirms your client parking just across the street from the alley entrance around three. Unfortunately, the camera doesn't cover the alley itself."

"Being in an alley is not a crime."

Will responds, "We checked your client's bank records. He made a five thousand dollar deposit at the start of business today. As you can see, the note says that is how much Mr. Washington received for the bomb."

Kubiack and his client briefly whisper. "My client claims he won that money gambling. Prove otherwise."

Will continues, "We had a bomb sniffing dog check out your client's car, and it showed that there was something of interest in the trunk. We got a warrant, and our forensic team confirms traces of plastic explosives, C-4 to be exact."

Lawyer and client confer again. "My client is the fifth owner of that vehicle. Prove that your 'trace' didn't come from the activities of one of the previous owners."

"Well, I see we are not going to get any cooperation here. Lieutenant, have Mr. Washington locked up."

"On what charge?" Kubiack demands.

"On no charge. We will simply be holding Mr. Washington until the boys from Homeland Security get here to take him away. Domestic terrorism falls under their jurisdiction."

"T-Terrorism...?" Curtis Washington gasps.

"Yes Mr. Washington, people who buy bombs sometimes use those devices for the purpose of terrorism. You can explain your actions to the feds."

"But...I still can't be charged without evidence, right?"

Will smiles. "That assumes Homeland Security will even bother to charge you with anything. Under the new rules governing national security, they can hold you for weeks, even months without charge and without access to your lawyer. No one will know where you are while you are interrogated using methods far more extreme that what we can use."

Chadwick adds, "I hear waterboarding is particularly unpleasant."

Will nods and repeats, "Particularly unpleasant."

"But...I'm an American citizen. I have rights!"

"Terrorists have no rights. If you think we are bluffing, look at your lawyer's face."

Curtis turns to Kubiack but sees no reassurance there.

Will continues, "But, if you were willing to give us your full cooperation, we might be able to keep this a purely local affair. One count of illegal sale of explosives, provided you tell us everything you know."

Kubiack protests, "You can't get away with this..."

Curtis shouts, "Shut up! You're not the one facing six months of torture. You're fired! Get out!"

In an offended huff, Counselor L. J. Kubiack gathers his papers and exits.

Will asks, "How were you contacted?"

"E-mail for the first contact, and then by cell phone after that. My meeting this morning was the first time I saw the dude."

"Describe him."

"There's not much I can tell you. It was dark and he was wearing loose fitting clothes and a black ski mask. He was white, slender, medium height and used one of those voice distorters to disguise the way he sounded."

"What did he buy?"

"A one kilo brick of C-4 with two stop watch timers."

"So he would know the exact moment of the explosion... Anything else?"

"He was armed. Had a .38 caliber snub nose and..." Curtis hesitates.

"And...? Remember, full cooperation."

"I shouldn't have said anything. You won't believe me."

"Curtis..."

"Okay, the dude had a freakin' machete. A machete! Who the hell carries one of those?"

Will and Chadwick step away to whisper. Will asks, "We did keep that detail out of the press, right?"

"Yeah, no one was told the detail of the machete used to attack Ken Thompson."

"Then the same nut who goes around chopping people's hands with a machete has a bomb powerful enough to blow up any room in this city?"

"Will, we may have to call in the feds after all."

"For all the good it will do. Who knows what the next target of this nut will be?"

To Be Continued. Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"Well, what does everyone think? Be honest." Will asks.

All of the family is gathered around the dining room table, and all except Joan are trying a new lasagna recipe…

Grace hesitantly says, "Well, I'm not Italian, so my opinion isn't a qualified one…"

Luke gulps and replies, "It's…interesting, Dad."

Helen adds, "And it is your first try at vegetarian lasagna."

Will takes a bite of his own recipe and grimaces. "Ugh, my grandmother must be spinning in her grave after what I've done to her classic recipe. What was I thinking, low fat and vegetarian?"

"It's healthier." Helen says as she pushes her plate away. "Besides, there's plenty of salad and fresh bread…"

Joan sighs. "I'd gladly swap skinless boiled chicken and plain rice for the vegetarian lasagna any day."

Helen shakes her head. "Stick with your diet, young lady. You want to get better, don't you?"

"Yeah, and the bland diet with the medicine is helping a lot. I haven't thrown up since I started taking it."

"And you're strictly following the diet?"

"Well…"

"Joan!"

"Okay, I've been eating chocolate. I know it's not on the diet, but I've been craving it like crazy. I can't seem to stop."

Helen sighs. "I can certainly understand craving chocolate, but Joan, you need to start watching yourself. You went away for vacation a 'lean, mean fighting machine' and now, pardon me for saying so, you're getting a little bit pudgy."

Joan nods. "I know. It's the lack of exercise. I'm use to jogging several miles every day, and that really burns the calories. Today, I walked around the block a dozen times and came back exhausted. It's amazing how fast you can lose your conditioning."

Will comments, "Don't I know it. After Eleanor was born, your mother and I started hitting the gym on a regular basis. I thought I was in good condition until I started pushing myself to do a little more."

Helen adds, "But persistence is paying off. Will and I are getting into the best shape we've been in for years. Stick with the walking Joan, and you'll see that you will be running those miles again in no time."

Luke says, "Speaking of walking, Joan you do realize you will be doing more of that soon? Grace, Annie and I leave for Boston at the end of next week, and we're using the Jeep. In fact, I took it in for servicing today to prepare for the trip. Uh, since it's half yours, you are okay with us taking it out of town?"

"Sure. I'm use to the bus, and if I need a vehicle, I can get one."

Will says, "If you think we are buying you a new car…"

"Chill Dad, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Good, because finances might become a little tight next year."

Grace asks, "What do you mean, Papa Girardi?"

"Well, all of you know that the local party officials have been pressuring me to run for mayor next year?"

Luke says, "I thought you had decided against that, Dad."

"At your mother's urging, I've been reconsidering. I haven't made a firm decision, but I'm leaning that way. What do you guys think of the idea?"

Joan responds, "Dad, that's fantastic."

Luke adds, "I agree. Dad, you'll make a great mayor."

Grace says, "I know my Dad had been hoping you would run. He's been worried it you didn't then one of the old political hacks would grab the office."

Helen says, "And the last thing Arcadia needs is another corrupt politician running this city."

Joan comments, "Yeah, if one of those guys got back into office, they might not renew your contract as police chief."

Will pauses. "I hadn't thought of that. You're right Joan, and that makes my decision easier. One of my main concerns is the money angle. As soon as I announce my candidacy, I will have to step down as police chief. That will mean a lot of months on a very reduced income. If the funding is there, I can draw expense money from the campaign fund, but it would be nowhere near my salary. We would mostly be living off of your mother's income as an artist, with no guarantee that I would win."

Joan says, "Well, I have some news that might help. It seems I'm inheriting Jimmy's estate, and it's a fair chunk of change. Enough to pay for my college expenses and law school."

Joan watches her parents' reaction, and she can see a burden visibly lifting from their shoulders...

Will says, "Joan, this will be an amazing help. Your mother and I have been worried about how we were going to meet our obligation for college costs to both you and Eleanor. And, that helps us a lot with the decision about the campaign."

Helen asks, with a slight nervousness in her voice, "Does this mean you will be moving out, Joan?"

Joan understands. With Grace moving away this year to be with Luke, there will be no one to help with Eleanor if she moves out too. Her mother's blossoming art career will stall as Helen becomes the sole caregiver to the world's crankiest baby.

"Actually, if you guys don't mind, I think it would be cool to stay and get to bond with my new baby sister."

Will smiles. "Of course it's okay. You are always welcome to live here Joan, even if it is as long as when you are old and grey."

Everyone chuckles and Joan responds, "Maybe I won't be here quite that long."

As the others resume eating, Helen catches her daughter's eye and silently mouths, 'Thank you'. Joan subtly nods and the matter is settled between the two Girardi women without another word needing to be said.

X X X X X

8-9-07/Thursday. (4:00 a.m.)

"Oh God!" Helen shouts.

Will awakens at the sound of his wife's outcry. "Helen…?"

Any discussion is put off as Eleanor begins to wail her disapproval at having been woke up by the sudden noise. Helen sighs heavily as she turns on the light.

"Sorry, I woke the baby."

Helen goes to the nearby crib, resisting her instinct to pick up her daughter to comfort her. Bitter experience has taught her that would be a mistake. As Eleanor continues to loudly cry, Helen gently rocks the crib and makes soothing sounds. It seems to make no difference.

Will softly moans, "Oh great, we can expect at least an hour of this. She's going to wake up the whole house."

"Maybe not. I'm going to try something Joan suggested…"

Helen goes to her dresser and gets her hand mirror. She places it in the crib next to Eleanor's face.

"Hey Eleanor, hey sweetie, see the mirror? Look, you can see yourself."

Eleanor cries for just a few moments more before she notices her reflection. The baby pauses, examining the shiny image she sees. The crying stops as she reaches out to touch the mirror and realizes it is her own image. For the first time since she was born, Eleanor coos. A minute later, relaxed and happy, E. T. Girardi falls asleep. Both parents breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

Helen returns to the bed and turns out the light. She and Will snuggle close.

Will whispers, "Remind me to thank Joan. That's some trick."

Helen whispers back, "Yeah, I don't know how she realized that would work, but I'm glad she did."

"What made you shout out like that? A nightmare?"

"Sort of. I…had one of my special dreams."

Will sighs. "Not this again."

"Will, I know you don't believe me, but sometimes I have dreams that are more than just dreams. They…show the future."

"Helen, you have a lot of dreams. Few of them have any elements of truth in them. Remember the time you dreamt you saw Judith's ghost in the kitchen? And clowns informing you of Kevin's accident?"

"What about the time I saw that Detective Carlisle was going to die? I got that right."

"Partly right. You got me to give into your dream idea and I kept Carlisle in the office all day because you thought he would die on duty. Instead, shortly after he clocked out he was murdered. Granted you got the day right…"

"But Carlisle was doing a part of his job off duty when he was murdered. I just missed on the timing."

"Which was a bit impressive, but not enough for me to start relying on your 'special dreams'. Remember the last one? Back in June you were sure that Joan was being held captive in some warehouse by a madman. Turns out, she only went off with some guy for a romantic fling for two days."

"Oh…right. Wait. Joan told us that Jimmy was her 'first', so how could she been with a man for two days back in June?"

Will shrugs. "Maybe she changed her mind and the guy wasn't too pleasant about it. Kevin did say she returned sad and unwilling to talk about the experience."

"Maybe. I never got around to discussing the matter with Joan."

"Well if you do, leave me out of it. Discussing my teenaged daughter's sex life is way out of my comfort zone. So, what was your dream about?"

"You still want to hear it?"

"I know it's important to you, so I'll listen. I just won't promise in advance to believe it, okay?"

"Okay. In my dream I was standing outside of a beautiful Southern style mansion. It had seven white columns in the front, and the lawn stretched down a hill to the river. There were a lot of guards patrolling around, but everything seemed peaceful. In fact, there was a party going on inside. I could hear music playing, people laughing and everything seemed to be okay. Then, there was an explosion. It was loud, and there was a fire right after that. Glass shattered, people screamed and there were cries for help. That's when I woke up."

Will hesitates, considering Helen's dream. "An explosion? Like a bomb going off?"

"I suppose so. Does that mean anything to you?"

"The mansion you are describing matches only one home in this county. The one belonging to Congressman Lewis."

Helen gulps nervously. "Where we are suppose to be at for tomorrow night's party?"

Will nods. "Congressman P. Lloyd Lewis is on the House arms services committee and the intelligence committee. He knows more top secret information than most Pentagon generals. Homeland Security is always giving us updates on potential threats of assassination or kidnapping involving Lewis."

"I know he has always been very hawkish on the war, and has encouraged invasions of even more Middle East countries."

"Which has put him on the death list of several terrorist groups. Helen, if there is even a slight chance you are right, then you are not going to that party."

"Will, I have to be there. It's part of my contract with the congressman, and you are suppose to be having talks with party leaders about the run for mayor. We can't not show up. Besides, if there is a risk, what about the other people attending?"

"We would have to beef up security, but how do I explain that? There was a report of someone buying a bomb on the black market, but how do I make that connection with the congressman's home? I can hardly tell my people, and Lewis' security detail, that I'm acting on my wife's dreams."

"What will you do?"

"Lie."

X X X X X

That afternoon Joan drags herself slowly home, exhausted by a long walk around the neighborhood. She cheers up when she sees a familiar figure waiting for her at curbside...

"Friedman."

"Joan."

They hug for a long time.

"I saw you limping your way down the block, so I waited for you. How are you, Joan?"

"I feel like crap in every way - physically, emotionally, mentally and even spiritually. It was a hell of a summer. How was yours?"

"Not to rub it in, but great. Luke and I made a lot of money, and my relationship with Dillon is better than ever. Joan...I am so sorry about your loss."

Joan nods as they walk up to the porch and then into the house. As soon as they are inside Annie, who is on the couch with Grace, squeals a greeting.

"Hey Friedman. Joan, you look beat." Grace remarks.

"I am." Joan says as she flops onto the couch next to Annie.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Bottled water?"

"Sure. How about you, Brillo-head?"

"Water would be fine, 'Marge'."

Grace chuckles as she exits, and Friedman casts her a nervous glance as he sits on the other side of Annie.

"She's going to spit in my water, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't drink it."

"I knew that 'Marge' remark was a mistake... Hey Annie, do you remember me?"

Annie nods, points to Joan's laptop on the coffee table and then points back at Friedman.

"Wow, she does remember. The last time I worked on your laptop was the the first week in June. She is a really smart baby."

Joan smiles. "That's the rumor."

Annie begins looking about, spots a vase of flowers on the opposite side of the room and starts pointing that way while making yearning sounds. To make sure Friedman notices, Annie tugs on his sleeve and points again and again.

"Uh, what does she want?"

Joan suppresses another smile. "I think she wants to look at those flowers, but they're too high up for her. Would you mind carrying her over there?"

Annie excitedly bounces up and down while again pointing at the flowers. Friedman smiles, picks Annie up and carries her over toward the flowers. Grace enters the room, carrying two opened bottles of water, just as they reach the flowers...

"See Annie - see the pretty flowers?" Friedman asks.

Annie gives the flowers a disinterested glance and then stares at Friedman with a look of curiosity, almost as if asking: 'Why are you showing me this'? Annie giggles and then laughs while thrusting her arms up in triumph. Friedman looks confused. He then realizes the trick...

"Did I just get punked by a baby?"

"A very smart baby." Grace laughs as she first hands Joan her water and then Friedman his while taking Annie into her arms.

Friedman good naturedly smiles and then stares at the water with suspicion. "Is this safe to drink?"

Grace chuckles and exits, carrying Annie with her as they go up the stairs. Annie waves goodbye. Friedman joins Joan on the couch and puts the water to the side...

"Not as thirsty as I thought. Okay, now that we are alone, any new assignments from you-know-who?" Friedman asks while pointing up.

"No, and there won't be. By the way, thanks for the help when I was in L. A. Without your assist, CTU would probably still be interrogating me."

"Glad to help. What did you mean by no assignments?"

"I've resigned."

"Can you do that?"

"If there's one thing God managed to drum into my head it's the free will lecture. He warned me back when I graduated high school that sticking in his service would be harder than before. I just didn't realize...how hard."

"So you're giving up because of what happened to the man you were engaged to?"

"Partly, and partly because I've realized I'm as much of a danger to the world as I am a help. Just meeting me cost a very good man his life. I certainly didn't intend to cause Jimmy any harm, but I was the catalyst that set in motion the ripples that led to Jimmy's death. And he wasn't the only one. People died in San Francisco and Los Angeles because of my bungling."

"Joan, I find that hard to believe. You're a good person, and you do good work."

Joan sighs. "Maybe at one time, but I've made that choice about the end justifying the means too often to be called, 'good'. I've broken the laws of God and man with the intention of doing good, but now...? I just don't know. The higher God advances my spiritual abilities, the more dire the consequences when I make a mistake."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I will block all spiritual input as best I can, and continue to block it until that becomes second nature to me. Meanwhile, I will try to get back some sort of 'normal' life."

"Such as college?"

"I suppose... Oh crap, I completely forgot about registering for this semester's classes."

"Joan, the deadline for Arcadia College's registration is today."

"How do you know that?"

"Dillon goes to Arcadia. Would you like my help?"

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that."

Friedman grabs Joan's laptop and quickly arrives at the Arcadia College website... "Heavy schedule or light?"

"Light. Just the required stuff."

"Okay, let's see... For second year pre-law you've got three must-haves in your major, and you need one elective in the arts."

"Sign me up, and I couldn't care less about the elective. You pick something."

"Okay..." Friedman scans the options, smiles and clicks on a class called, 'Vocals'. "Done. You should get a snail mail confirmation and class schedule by Monday."

"Thanks. I'm really glad I didn't have to deal with that."

"Not a problem." Friedman comments as he closes the laptop. "It's going to seem strange with you just being an ordinary college student. Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"Positive. But Friedman, thanks for the help you've given me since I let you in on my little secret."

"It was an honor. Say, since you are getting back to 'normal', Luke and Grace are joining Dillon and me for dinner and a movie on Saturday night. Care to join us?"

"Thanks for the invitation, but it will be a long time before I'm ready to socialize again. Maybe I'll offer to babysit Annie. I'll enjoy that."

X X X X X

Meanwhile, Will is in his office feeling guilty as he waits for Lt. Chadwick's report. Only Helen knows of Will's deception - another 'anonymous' note, this time warning of a bomb at Congressman Lewis' party Friday night. Will did his best to duplicate the appearance of the original anonymous note. Fortunately, he had on hand paper that matched the first one...

"Rodriguez and I did a thorough search of the Franklin Gallery, and paid especial attention to the antique picture frame you told us about. We had the bomb sniffing dog check it, and even had the frame x-rayed for secret compartments. Nothing. The frame is solid wood with no trace of explosives. The restorer, Renee Sloan, was fully cooperative but a little annoyed because we put her work behind schedule."

"Not too far behind schedule, I hope. Helen needs that frame to fulfill her contract with the congressman."

"Miss Sloan says she will still make the deadline, but it will now be late Friday afternoon before the frame is ready."

Will nods. "The frame was a longshot, but we have to check out everything. In the meantime, I've informed Sheriff Rakowski and the head of the congressman's security detail of the threat. The mansion has been thoroughly searched, and there will be lots of added security for the party. All guests will be carefully screened, and our overworked bomb sniffing dog will check out every car entering the grounds."

"Will, this seems like a lot of trouble for an anonymous note."

"I know, but the first note was accurate, and we do know there's a bomb out there somewhere in the hands of a lunatic. Can we really risk ignoring the threat?"

"I suppose not, but we're going to look like fools if we come up dry."

"I know." Will says as he feels more guilt about what he has done. If anyone ever finds out he faked that note based on one of Helen's dreams, his career as a cop and potential mayor will be over.

X X X X X

"Anything to report, Captain Lemmer?"

"No Congressman, the sweep of the mansion has turned up dry and the review of the backgrounds of tomorrow night's party list reveals no potential threats."

Lewis drums his fingers on his desk, clearly peeved. "My wife is still in the dark about all of this?"

"Yes sir, so far, but it will be hard to hide all of the added security precautions before the start of the party."

"If Shelley's birthday is ruined over nothing, I will make Will Girardi rue the day he ever heard of Arcadia. I'm almost tempted to call off the added precautions. We've never needed them before."

"It's your call, Congressman."

"As head of security, what do you think?"

"I always prefer to err on the side of caution. Chief Girardi may only have a vague anonymous note, but the added circumstances around that note make it a matter worth taking seriously. It's not as if there haven't been some real threats and risks in the past. Can we really take the chance now, especially in your own home, sir?"

"If it were just me, I'd say screw it. But with my wife and our guests...I can't risk it. Alright Captain, continue to coordinate with the sheriff's office and the Arcadia police. Meanwhile, I'm going to wait and see how this plays out. If Will Girardi wants my endorsement for mayor, he better show me he has sound judgement."

Captain Lemmer gives a quick salute and exits the congressman's office. P. Lloyd Lewis picks up the framed photo of his wife and stares at it with a touch of...guilt? No, he's never felt that before. Nervousness is more like it. Shelley has grown tired of his constant affairs, and he needs her vast wealth to finance his political ambitions. This party has to be perfect if he is to get back into his wife's good graces. How lucky he was when he found...okay, sneakily undercut one of his many girlfriends, when he grabbed that frame for a fast fifty bucks. Too bad for Renee, but if you snooze, you lose. Briefly, he wonders what ever happened to Renee Sloan...

X X X X X

Late that night in the third floor work shop of the Franklin Gallery, Renee Sloan completes the last touches that finish the restoration of the 300 year old frame. It's beautiful. Perfect, even if she does say so herself. And, completed well ahead of schedule, just as she knew it would be. It is easily worth the ten thousand dollars she will get for it in Europe. Rightfully it is hers, she reasons, so she feels no guilt about the 'theft'. Nor does she feel guilt about the approaching death of P. Lloyd Lewis. That lying weasel has had this coming for a long time. She does pause a moment, hoping there will be few other casualties. If she has timed it out right, the congressman will definitely be killed, but she can't be sure about how many others will die.

Renee looks across the room to the fake frame she has built just for this occasion. It is a perfect copy, even if it is a cheap imitation. Being the one who restored the original, it was easy to make the two frames look exactly alike. Poor Ken Thompson, not a bad guy or a bad boss. She hated hurting him with the machete, but she had to make sure she was the one with final access to the frame before the party. The police search came as an unexpected surprise, but luck was with her. She had the phony stored on the roof, and no one thought to look up there. The dog was a scary thing - would he detect the odor of the C-4 on her? She wore gloves everytime she handled the stuff, and apparently that was enough to save her. Amazing stuff that plastic explosive. She could cut it, shape it and use it to imitate the intricate molding on the original without risk. Covered in a mahogany stain, her bomb - the very picture frame itself - is now undetectable. The tiny detonator, hidden behind the faux electrum inlay, is equally invisible and with the extra stop watch, she will know the precise second when the explosion will occur.

It should make for a spectacular blast, the C-4 being much more powerful than dynamite, and the wood frame will splinter into a thousand shards of deadly shrapnel - ensuring P. Lloyd's death. Even better, the police department's search of the picture frame will put her in the clear since they will verify there was no bomb. All will assume terrorists finally got the hated congressman. And the best part? Delivery is assured, because no cop will search the car driven by Arcadia's chief of police...

To Be Continued. Please Review.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

8-10-07/Friday

Zero progress on the case is what is on Will's mind as he helps Helen carry her painting of Congressman Lewis and his wife. It isn't heavy, but because of the size, it is awkward for only one person to handle. They arrive at the front door where Joan, Luke, Grace and a sleepy Annie await them.

"Okay, one quick look and then we have to go." Helen says as she removes the linen cover.

Annie reacts first by clapping her hands.

Helen smiles as she strokes her granddaughter's beautiful blonde hair. "Thank you Annie, I've never received a more appreciated compliment."

Luke says, "I wholeheartedly agree with my daughter. This is beautiful work, Mom."

Joan nods. "Yeah Mom, it's amazing."

Helen notices Grace hesitating. "Grace…?"

"Don't get me wrong Mama Girardi, your skill is obvious, but why did you paint them looking mad at each other?"

Helen looks at her work. "Mad?"

"Yeah, this is one of those couples' paintings that is suppose to show everyone how in love they were with each other at this point in their lives, right? But instead of being on a love seat or couch side by side, they're in separate wing chairs barely touching each other's hands. From the angle of how they are sitting, they probably couldn't even see each other's faces."

Helen shrugs. "This is the pose they wanted. I just assumed they weren't very demonstrative in public, but now that you mention it, they do kind of look unhappy with each other. I hope the congressman won't be disappointed with the finished work. He tends to demand a lot of people he does business with."

Will says, "They approved the final sketch, didn't they? The painting is perfect, and if they have second thoughts about how they look, well too bad. This isn't a snapshot. Okay, we have to hurry to get to the gallery for the frame and then make the drive out to the Lewis country estate."

With quick farewells, Will and Helen depart. Annie manages to wave goodbye before she rests her head on Grace's shoulder and promptly falls asleep.

"Well, she's down for the count, and fortunately so is my grumpy sister-in-law." Grace says.

"Hey…!" Joan protests.

"I meant E. T."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm going to shove off too. Mind if I take the Jeep?"

Luke replies, "Not a problem. Where are you going, Joan?"

"I thought I would go down to Riverfront Park and get in a jog before sunset."

Luke asks, "Are you up to that?"

"I think so. I'm starting to feel a little better each day, and I don't intend to push myself too hard. See ya guys, have fun with the sleeping babies."

Joan exits and Grace heads for the stairs with the sleeping Annie.

Luke comments, "You know, with both babies asleep, and everyone else out of the house…"

Grace smiles. "We have a rare opportunity of the whole house to choose from for a little 'fun'. I'll put Annie down and be right back."

Luke smiles too. "And I will be ready to surprise you."

Grace chuckles. "Oh, I know what you will be surprising me with, but the where I leave up to you."

Grace hurries up the stairs and Luke pauses to admire the sway of his wife's hips. With a big grin on his face, he looks around the house and considers the possibilities…

X X X X X

"Renee, you've outdone yourself. I've never seen a more beautiful frame."

"Thank you Mrs. Girardi, I am pleased with how it turned out. And your portrait, wow—the two go together perfectly."

"Yes, I have to hand it to the congressman, he has good taste. When he first proposed a portrait this large, I thought it might be too much. But now, I see he was right. I just hope he has a wall large enough to handle this."

"I assume so. From what I've heard, his mansion is the largest house in the county. Well, I hate to cover this up, but we need to pack it carefully to assure there will be no damage in transport."

With Will and Helen helping, the finished work is carefully wrapped and ready. Renee helps the Girardis carry the framed painting to their car. With a little difficulty, they manage to get the work into the back of the Volvo station wagon, the rear seat folded flat to provide the necessary room.

"That was a tight squeeze. For a moment I thought it wouldn't fit." Will comments.

Helen responds, "I measured the frame to be sure it would fit the Volvo, but I forgot to account for the package padding. We're lucky. If we hadn't been able to get this in, there wouldn't have been time to arrange another vehicle."

"Speaking of time…" Will says as he points at his watch and then enters the car.

"I know. Renee, thank you so much for stepping in at the last moment, and for doing such a great job. You really saved Ken and me from a nasty lawsuit. I don't think Congressman Lewis would even accept an act of God as an excuse for being late."

"Glad to be of help, but I admit I'm glad this project is done. It consumed every moment of time I had. Thankfully, Mr. Thompson gave me permission to take a long weekend to rest up. I won't be back until Tuesday."

With a smile Helen says, "Enjoy your rest."

"Helen…!"

The smile disappears. "Coming!"

The smile reappears. "Thanks again."

Helen enters the car, and as it pulls away, Renee Sloan waves good bye. With a smile of her own she removes a stopwatch from her pocket and for a moment observes the in-progress countdown.

"Boom."

X X X X X

Later, a tired Joan comes to rest on a park bench near the river. Her jog went well, and even though she is tired, she isn't exhausted. A sure sign her stamina is slowly starting to come back. Good. Joan acknowledges she desperately needs to get back into an intense exercise routine. This morning she had to dig into the back of her closet for her fat jeans, and even those are a little snug. At least she has stopped scarfing down all of the shocolate she can get her hands on. For some reason the craving for chocolate went away as suddenly as it came. Of course now it has been replaced with a craving for strawberries. Joan reminds herself to pick up more on her way home. At least strawberries aren't fattening.

For the moment Joan just wants to rest and admire the view. The river is beautiful, especially at sunset. Joan thinks of Jimmy. When they were contemplating the possibility of them living in Arcadia, Joan had in mind to show Jimmy this view. It might not be as spectacular as some of the vistas in Miami, but Joan has always loved this spot, and it always was a romantic place to be at with a special guy… Joan begins to weep. Despair and loneliness fill her soul and she wonders how she can go on without him. For a moment, just a moment, the thought of the nearby river causes Joan to contemplate a drastic act…

No, she can't do that to her family. She can't do that to Jimmy, whom she knows is still watching over her. Joan calms her soul and feels Jimmy's presence there with her, always showering her with his love. He wants her to live and to enjoy life. For him she will try, but at moments like this, it seems too much to endure. Joan wipes away her tears and realizes the sun has set. All of the small pleasure boats that rent space at the city owned dock have been stored for the night, and the park is rapidly emptying.

Time to go. This isn't a particularly dangerous part of town, but it is unwise for any young woman to be alone in a dark, isolated area. Besides, the way she feels, she couldn't fight off a cub scout let alone muggers or something worse. Joan is about to stand when she notices something odd. A blonde woman in her thirties is hurrying along the path that leads to the docked boats. She keeps looking around nervously while checking over and over her wristwatch and a stopwatch that dangles from a strap around her neck. If the woman didn't look so frantic, it would almost be amusing. 'I'm late, I'm late…' On your way to the Mad Hatter's tea party?

Joan continues to stare as the woman arrives at a 14 foot speedboat and removes the canvas cover. She unlocks the chain that secures the boat, and looks about one last time before almost getting in… She spots Joan watching her. At first the blonde seems annoyed at being observed, but then recognition comes to the woman's face. Joan sighs. Isn't her fifteen minutes of fame up yet? It's been over a year and a half since she took Ryan Hunter down, and still people stop her on the street to thank her or ask questions about her 'war' with the madman who terrorized Arcadia for so long.

The blonde approaches and Joan braces herself for the thank-you/you're amazing routine. Ahh, the fame of the hometown hero. It may fade, but it never seems to go away completely.

"Excuse me, but are you Joan Girardi?"

Joan forces a polite smile to her face. "Yes, I am."

"The one who single handidly took down Ryan Hunter?"

"Well, I had help, but yes, that's me."

The blonde stares at Joan, unreadable expressions crossing the woman's face. Joan has her mental blocks up to the spiritual stimuli she normally experiences. With them she would know all about this stranger, but Joan has made her choice and will not go back. But really, what does this woman want? An autograph? A picture with the local hero?

"I don't know how you got on to me, but you're not taking me down too!"

Joan sees the stun gun far too late. The crazy blonde woman rams the device into Joan's belly and hits the button. Joan's body spasms and she feels intense pain. Desperately she tries to move, but her body will not respond. Joan slumps down unconscious, but Renee Sloan continues to hit the stun gun's button over and over, sending jolt after jolt into Joan's body. She continues until the battery is drained…

X X X X X

Will drums his fingers on the steering wheel with impatience as sits in the long line of cars that are trying to enter the main gate of the Lewis family estate. Sheriff's deputies are in full force, and private uniformed guards are visible through the fenced grounds, patrolling with attack dogs. The congressman takes no chances with his safety, and Will knows that much of this security presence is business as usual for the congressman. A man in a security uniform and a sheriff's deputy spot Will and approach the Volvo.

"Good evening, Chief." the deputy, a sergeant, says.

"Good evening Sgt. Steiner." Will responds, remembering the deputy from the time when he was a member of the sheriff's department.

"And sir, I'm Captain Lemmer, head of the congressman's security detail. As you can see, we are experiencing some delays as we have to search each car and have the bomb sniffing dog check out all of the cars and guests."

"It looks very thorough."

"Yes sir, but the congressman is very displeased with the delay. He's rather...demanding when it comes to punctuality. He plans to start the party, and to have the unveiling of the painting at precisely nine o'clock, even if half the guests are still trying to get in."

Sgt. Steiner adds, "I tried to reason with the congressman, explain that we have to take every precaution, but he was too livid to listen. Frankly Chief, if this turns out to be a big hoax, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

Will sighs. "I guess that's why they pay me the big money."

"At least we can ease the congressman's mind by getting the portrait set up quickly." Lemmer says as he then speaks into a radio. "Hold up the line. Let Chief Girardi's car through."

Will is waved on by, and he goes around the line of cars (getting a few angry honks in the process), and drives pass the security checkpoint without a pause...

X X X X X

Pain is the first sensation Joan experiences as she begins to awaken. Her guts are on fire, her head throbs and the nausea is terrible. For one horrible moment Joan imagines she is back in the motel room waking up from another drunken night. But reality sets in: it is dark, she is on a rocking boat and her hands are cuffed behind her. Joan turns, and from the deck where she lays, she sees the crazy blonde using a pair of binoculars while again checking the stopwatch around her neck. (Whoever this nut may be, she's well organized. Handcuffs, stun gun, binoculars, etcetera...) Joan opens herself up to the spiritual stimuli and is not surprised by what she reads: an obsession with revenge, violent passions and more than a little craziness...

"Lady, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, so you're awake. For a while there I thought I might have killed you." the woman says without pausing in her observation of...some sort of Southern style mansion on a hill on the other side of the river.

Joan rises to a sitting position and sees the small boat is near the southern shore of the river, which is heavily wooded. Joan stares at the place which so fascinates her captor. At this distance it is hard to make out details, but the mansion is well-lit, and Joan can spot security guards with dogs patrolling the distant shore.

"Who are you, and what's with the timer? What happens in...six minutes?"

"As if you didn't know. I've heard about your reputation, even though I've been in Arcadia for less than a year. When I saw you staring at me back in the park, I just knew you were on to me."

(Okay, add paranoia to the list.) "Are you planning to kill someone?"

"See, that proves you were on to me. Yes, like you don't know, I'm about to kill that rat, P. Lloyd Lewis."

"Our congressman?"

"To you maybe, but to me he is the man who has spent years making my life miserable."

"What do you mean?" Joan asks, stalling for time to see if she can squeeze one of her hands free. It seems unlikely, but she has to try.

"I first met P. Lloyd back in high school, when he was still using his first name. Even in those days he was a lying, scheming weasel that you couldn't trust for an instant. He always had some con going, some way of breaking the rules to gain even the tiniest advantage. He cheated, blackmailed and lied his way all through high school, and he never got caught! He was always so smart, and so charming, he knew he could get away with anything and would brag that he could never lose."

"Okay, he was a jerk. Why kill him now?"

"He was also a seducer. Good looking, smooth talking - he was irresistable, and even though ever girl in school knew he only wanted one thing, he still got it. He must have seduced a hundred girls before he graduated, dumping everyone of them after he had his fun. I certainly knew what he was like, but still..."

"Then why?"

"Because he was...beautiful. An Adonis, with the ego to match. Always preening in front of the mirror... Besides, even though you knew he was lying through his teeth when he seduced you, they were such pretty lies. And yet, I still hoped..."

"That the bad boy would change for you."

"Yes! What is wrong with women? Why are we like this? So, a month after having me, which was longer than usual, he dumped me. I knew it was going to happen, but still it hurt. I might have gotten over that and moved on, but with me, something happened that had never happened before. He came back. No other girl ever got a return visit from good ol' P. Lloyd, but I did. The romancing, the seduction scenario was irresistable, and I thought it was different this time. That it wasn't just sex. That he really cared. But...no, he dumped me a second time. That one hurt much worse. It really messed me up, but then came the third time and the fourth! Why couldn't he leave me alone? Why didn't he care how much he was hurting me? By the time we graduated high school, I was a basket case. I never fully trusted another guy again. He went on to Princeton, and I went to community college, relieved that our paths would never cross again."

"But they did?"

She sighs. "Yes, last year at our high school reunion. He was still beautiful, and his lies were even prettier than before. I knew it was a mistake, after all, he's married. But, I couldn't resist, damn him! At least this time I knew it was just a brief fling, and I was sure my heart wouldn't be broken. Not again. Then one day we were out shopping for antiques - that's what I do, trade in antiques. In a filthy old junk shop I came across the find of a lifetime. It was an old picture frame that was dirty, scratched and priced at only fifty bucks. The owner of the shop had no idea that the frame was a valuable antique and fully restored, it was worth thousands. I told the 'worthy' congressman to watch over it while I went to the car for my purse. I wasn't gone three minutes before I got back to find he had bought it for himself. The rotten bastard! Look at that mansion. He's richer than God, and yet he steals from me!"

"That's when you decided to kill him?"

"Not right away. We fought and broke up over that, and he returned to Arcadia to his perfect life with his rich wife. But the more I thought about it, the more obsessed I became. I couldn't let him get away with treating people, treating ME like this. He had to die. Problem is, P. Lloyd Lewis is one of the most well protected men in the country. I couldn't get near him in Washington, and I couldn't get near him here. But I knew, eventually he would want to get that frame restored, and there was only one place in Arcadia that did that type of work. I got a job as an apprentice at the Franklin Gallery and bided my time. Tonight, in three minutes, that patience pays off. Watch carefully, it isn't that big of a bomb."

"It's a time bomb? But how do you know you'll even get the congressman? He might be in a different room when it goes off."

"No, at exactly nine o'clock, according to his daily blog, the painting of him and his wife will be unveiled, and the congressman will make a toast to Mrs. Lewis for her 30th birthday. P. Lloyd is anal retentive about punctuality. The bomb is set for nine-oh-one. They will be standing right next to the fake frame I made, which is actually the bomb itself. Oh, sorry about your parents."

"What about my Mom and Dad?"

"As the artist, Mrs. Girardi will be right there, and of course your father will be next to her. Hopefully, no more than those four will die. Although, most of the people in that room will be wounded by the flying shards of splintered wood."

"No please, you can't do this. Call it off!"

"Can't. The timer is set, and even if I was in the room, I don't know how to disarm it. Two minutes."

X X X X X

In the main ballroom of the old mansion, Will and Helen stand next to the painting while waiting for the congressman to begin his little speech. Lewis watches his Rolex, unwilling to vary his schedule by even a moment.

Helen whispers, "I am so never going to vote for this guy again."

Will chuckles and whispers back, "But keep smiling. As a politican's wife, you'll have to learn the skill of the non-stop fake smile. Look at Mrs. Lewis. You would never know she can't stand her husband."

"I don't know, now that Grace put that idea into my head about them being mad at each other, I can see it. What is their problem?"

"From the gossip I've heard from various politicans, and they do love to gossip, P. Lloyd Lewis is a classic womanizer - probably a sexaholic. He cheats on his wife as regularly as he has breakfast."

" And just when I thought he couldn't go lower in my estimation. Although..."

"What?"

"I was just speculating about who might want to put a bomb in the congressman's house. What if it were the congressman himself? Maybe he finally fell for one of his many women, someone younger and hotter than the rather drab Mrs. Lewis? He could have bought that bomb, and he was masked and using an electronic voice distorter because he's so recognizable."

"Interesting. Kill the wife, inherit the money and get a lot of public sympathy for when a 'terrorist' kills his wife. On the other hand, it's just as likely Mrs. Lewis, fed up with her husband's cheating ways, decides to use the same scenario to get rid of him so she doesn't have to share any of her money in a divorce settlement."

"Will, do you really think so?"

Will softly chuckles. "No, of course not. Beyond the fact there's not a shred of evidence, can you imagine either of these pampered aristocrats going into the most dangerous part of town at night to covertly buy a bomb from a blackmarket arms dealer?"

Helen smiles. "I see your point. What a shame, it was such a good scenario. Especially since they are the only couple of people who could sneak a bomb in here unsearched."

Will pauses, considering Helen's words. "No, there was one other couple who weren't searched. Us."

"Well of course, there's no need to search..." Helen hesitates as she looks at the picture frame. "Will, you did say your people carefully checked out the frame?"

"Yes, but are you certain, absolutely certain, that's the same frame?"

Helen pauses, looking hard at the frame, barely noticing the congressman as he begins his speech. "I think so."

"Think?"

"Will, I'm not an expert on antiques. I saw the frame before the restoration began, in mid-restoration and when we picked it up. It looks exactly right. But..."

"But what?"

"When I touched the wood, it didn't feel...old. I know that sounds a little crazy, but I've always had this sense of age when I touch a genuine antique. This frame is suppose to be 300 years old, but it doesn't feel like it has...history."

Will thinks about what Helen is saying. He trusts his wife's instincts, but she is right - it does sound crazy, especially if he has to explain what he is about to do to anyone else. With a heavy sigh, Will knows he has to act right now...

"Excuse me Congressman. Everyone! I need your immediate attention. I'm police chief Will Girardi, and I have to ask everybody to exit this room in a quick but orderly manner."

Congressman Lewis stares at Will in shock and anger. He loves the spotlight, and no one takes it away from him. "Girardi, have you lost your mind? Everybody, stay where you are. There's nothing wrong."

The crowd hesitates. Will has his badge on prominent display, but their host is too important to blithely ignore.

"Congressman, you and your wife must leave now. You may be in danger."

"From what?"

"There may be a problem with...the frame."

"What are you talking about? I know this frame, it's been in my posession for over a year, and I assure you it's fine. Really Girardi, is this an example of your supposed 'common sense'? Stop making a fool of yourself and step away!"

Will doesn't want to cause a panic, but he sees he has no choice. "Helen, take Mrs. Lewis out of here. Everyone, listen to me. There may be a bomb..."

That's all it takes. People begin running - out the main entrance, through a servant's passage toward the kitchen, a couple of people even open a window and jump out. As Helen successfully, and safely, gets Mrs. Lewis out of the room, Will begins a careful examination of the painting and its' frame. Congressman Lewis watches, seething with anger.

"You moron! You've ruined my wife's birthday, you've turned my home into a shambles and, I guarantee you have finished yourself in Arcadia!"

"Congressman, it really would be best if you got the hell out of here."

P. Lloyd Lewis folds his arms and sneers, "Make me."

Will ignores him as he continues his examination of the frame. He has to admit it looks perfect - just as you would expect a 300 year old fully restored frame to look. Will can't tell by touch if the frame is old or not, but there does seem to be a slight difference in the texture of the intricate molding... Now, where would a detonator be hidden? In the lower left hand corner, Will finds a large piece of the unsual metal inlay to be a bit loose. Taking his pocket knife, Will begins to pry the piece away...

"What the hell? Girardi, you're ruining a valuable antique. I am so going to sue you for this!"

Congressman Lewis stops in mid rant. Behind the piece of metal is a stopwatch, counting down the seconds and attached to it are four wires of different colors. It is a classic design for homemade explosives, and Will knows you have to pull one of the wires to deactivate the bomb. The problem is, only the bomb maker knows the right one. Five seconds. Four... Will grabs the red wire.

X X X X X

Seconds earlier out on the boat, Renee Sloan watches with eager anticipation the dwindling numbers on the timer in her hand. Joan sees the numbers declining and knows there is nothing she can do. Oh please no, not her parents too...

"This is it! Five...four...three..."

"GOD STOP THIS!" Joan instinctively screams and then shuts her eyes.

Joan waits, but there is no sound of a blast. Maybe they are too far away to hear the explosion? But, there is no sound at all, except for her own breathing. Joan opens her eyes and sees the crazy blonde frozen in place, still staring at the stopwatch. Joan stands and realizes the waves on the river have stopped moving. She looks up and spots an owl in the moonlight, held perfectly still in mid-flap of its' wings. Even the stars have stopped twinkling.

"Wow." It seems an inadequate comment, but it is all Joan can think to say. She saw this once before on the day she was hospitalized for Lyme disease. She always assumed it was part of the hallucinations she was having that day, but this... How far does this extend? It can't be localized. People on the edge of the time-stop effect would notice. It can't even be limited to just this planet. Astromoners would be able to tell if time suddenly changed for Earth in relation to the rest of the solar system. It must be the whole universe. Wow, when people speak of God as all-powerful, you just can't grasp what that means until you see something like this. Joan looks at the stopwatch which is frozen at 0:01.

"Really? You stop this with one second to spare? That's a little overdramatic even for you, isn't it?"

"The timing was not my choice."

Joan turns and sees Cute Boy God walking toward her - walking on the water. He stops at the edge of the boat.

"I assume you are calling in your promised reward?"

"Yes, definitely yes. Thank you." Joan replies as she notices the handcuffs falling from her wrists. Quickly she retrieves them and handcuffs the blonde woman to the boat's railing.

"It's good to see you again, Joan. I've missed you."

"And...I've missed you. I'm sorry for how it ended between us."

"If I could have arranged things in any other way..."

Joan holds up a hand. "I know. You have to obey the rules, even if they are your own rules, otherwise chaos would control the universe. I was just so hurt...but I never stopped knowing that you love me. That you love all of us."

Cute Boy God smiles, but also looks a little sad. "So many people do forget that, especially when life gets hard."

"I guess we need to talk."

"I always enjoy speaking with you Joan, but perhaps you should take care of the matter at hand before we have that conversation. I don't like keeping time stopped for too long - pardon the pun."

"I don't think that's a pun."

"It is from my perspective. Oh, and unlike the movies, pull the blue wire. See you again soon, Joan."

Cute Boy God turns and begins to walk away.

"Hey wait, how long will this last?"

He looks back. "As long as it needs to, obviously."

"And how do I get from here to the other side of the river?"

He smiles. "You know."

Cute Boy God chuckles and walks away, giving the backhand wave.

Joan sighs. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Joan looks at the river very much aware that even though time has stopped, gravity hasn't. She recalls one of the earliest lessons God ever taught her...

"Faith is a choice."

Without hesitation, Joan steps out of the boat. Walking on the water, Joan heads toward the mansion on the hill.

To Be Continued.


	6. Chapter 6

FINAL CHAPTER

8-11-07/Saturday.

A police car drops Will off in front of his house. He is still dressed in the clothes from the night before, and he looks exhausted. Even though it is still very early, he sees Joan doing stretching exercises…

"Hey sweetie-pie, going for a run?"

"A brisk walk and maybe a little jogging. Dad, are you just now getting home? Mom got back last night."

"I know, but I had a lot of work to get done, and in the end, it was all for nothing."

"Nothing? I heard the early news report, they say you're a hero. That you found and disarmed a bomb at the last possible moment. You saved the congressman's life."

"Which is why I'm being called 'hero'. Congressman Lewis figures he owes me, and by loudly proclaiming me a hero, he avoids the scrutiny as to why he stubbornly refused to leave when I had the room cleared."

"That's pretty cynical, Dad."

"I'm already finding out politics is a very cynical business. I'm sure the congressman realizes he could just as easily damage my reputation by pointing out I was the one who brought the bomb into his home in the first place. This way when he endorses my run for mayor, he figures I owe him double in some sort of future payback."

"So it's official, you're running for mayor?"

"It's not a matter I can tell the public yet but yes, I'll be running in the next primary. I'm hoping for a smooth sailing into office, which is what all of the local political leaders assure me will happen, but I know that's not how life works."

"You'll make a great mayor, and all of this current publicity will help on election day: 'Police Chief Disarms Bomb'."

"Except…I don't know how that happened. I was about to pull the red wire, just like they do in the movies, but I actually pulled the blue one, which was the right choice. I could have sworn I had the red one in my fingers."

"Maybe you had a guardian angel looking out for you?" Joan says with a smile.

"I think I'd rather believe my subconscious mind took over in that moment. At any rate, the bomb failed and we caught the nut who planned the whole thing. Or rather, she was handed to us."

"What do you mean?" Joan nervously asks.

"Renee Sloan, the woman who did the restoration work on the antique frame, rigged the bomb. Apparently she has had some sort of insane obsession with Congressman Lewis since the two were in high school—at least that's what the congressman says. Thing is, we got a text message from the woman's own cell phone to come and pick her up at Riverfront Park where she was found handcuffed to a boat she owns. She refused to say how she got in that prediciment."

Joan breathes a sigh of relief. She was hoping the Sloan woman would realize that only the two of them knew about the assault and kidnapping of the police chief's daughter. As long as the cops never bring it up, Sloan will be smart enough not to add to her troubles.

"At least you have the woman on grand theft and attempted murder charges."

Will shakes his head. "We tried, but the woman was smart enough to say nothing until her lawyer showed up, and he wouldn't let her say a word until the feds arrived. They took custody of Renee Sloan, charging her with the attempted assasination of a congressman and with taking stolen goods across state lines. It seems she had already shipped the real antique frame overseas for sale in Europe."

"Well, whoever prosecutes, surely she will receive the maximum penalty?"

"Maybe not. Just before I headed home, I heard a rumor that strings were already being pulled behind the scenes to give 'Renee' the lightest sentence possible. I'm assuming the congressman has a few skeletons in his closet with this woman, and this is his way of making sure they stay hidden."

Joan shrugs. "I am so glad you are going to be mayor. You will make such a better political leader than a guy like P. Lloyd Lewis."

"I hope so. Now that I've made my decision, there are a lot of things I know I want to change about Arcadia."

"Looking forward to them. Well, I literally have to run. I've got to do something about this gut I'm starting to develop. By the way, you look very James Bondish in your tuxedo."

Will laughs and returns Joan's wave as she jogs away. As he watches her leave, he knows he does not want to bring up the one troubling thing that has been nagging at him for hours. While interviewing the stubbornly silent Renee Sloan, Will could swear he heard her softly murmur something that sounded like: 'Damn you Joan Girardi…'

X X X X X

"Damn you Joan Girardi!" a tubby drunk snarls as he stares at his fifth glass of whiskey so far today.

Another man, younger and with a military bearing, pauses as he crosses the bar. He looks at the drunk sitting at the corner table drinking surprisingly good scotch for such a rat-hole of a place. They are in a village near where the borders of Ecuador, Peru and Colombia all come together. The name of the village varies according to which government map you look at—ownership of the remote spot is in dispute. The locals, in various languages and dialects, refer to the place as Pigsty. There isn't a lot of civic pride in 'Pigsty' but there is one thing they are proud of…the world leaves them alone. Without the presence of legal authority due to the dispute over ownership, and with three national borders to choose from should the need arise to flee, Pigsty has become a surprisingly popular spot for men with forged documents who are avoiding the law.

The man with the military background approaches the fiftyish drunk in the corner…

"Mind if I join you?"

The drunk smiles. "Thank God, an American accent."

"Officially, my passport says I'm from Belize."

"Me too. Let me buy a drink for a fellow Buh-Buh-leez-ian."

The military man sits and produces a folding cup from his pocket. He wouldn't trust any of the filthy glasses in this dump. The drunk pours a generous supply of the expensive scotch.

"What…what should we drink to?" the drunk asks.

"To better days?"

"Better days." The drunk says and then downs his drink in a gulp. The other man justs sips the whiskey. The drunk adds, "In my better days, I was called: Doctor."

"In mine, I was 'General'. I couldn't help notice your mention of someone named, Joan Girardi? I'm wondering if it is the same girl I know."

A nod from the Doctor. "Pretty girl, nineteen, with an ability to show up when you're involved in something nuh…nuh…"

"Nefarious?"

"Yes! You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but at one time I...I was a prominient psychiatrist in a town you've probably never heard of."

"Arcadia?"

"Uh, yes." the Doctor says with a touch of suspicion. It wasn't unheard of for bounty hunters to track down wanted men even in a place as remote as this.

"Relax. I too met this 'Joan of Arcadia' when I was also up to something…nefarious."

"And everything fell apart right after that, yes?"

"In an astonishingly quick manner. I had to flee or go down for…my activities."

"Yes, yes, yes! I knew it! I don't know how she does it, but that girl always seems to come around at just the right moment to upset everything. You and I aren't the only ones."

"You sound like you know a lot about this Girardi girl."

"I know plenty about her. I use to be her psychiatrist. You wouldn't believe the psychotic break she had, or what she believed was happening. I should have locked her away in an asylum when I had the chance. Or better yet, kill her."

"That might still be arranged. Tell me more." Hobart Smith says.

'Dr. Dan' smiles and begins telling all…

X X X X X

Joan gave up on her jogging after only a few blocks. Her guts are still bothering her a lot, especially after getting zapped with the stun gun. Other than a few small electrical burns on her lower abdomen, there is no physical evidence of Renee Sloan's attack, but today it feels worse than last night. Joan decides to go home to rest. If she isn't better by tomorrow, she will go to the doctor.

Just as Joan is about to step off the curb, a long black limousine rounds the corner and stops in front to her. A muscular guard from the front seat exits and blocks Joan's path. He opens the back door of the limo and motions Joan to enter. Joan doesn't need to look inside to know who is waiting for her. Even though she has met him only once, his spiritual signature is malignantly unforgetable.

"Hello, I. B. It's been awhile." Joan says as she enters the car. The guard closes the door and moments later they are travelling through traffic. The heavily tinted windows prevent any observation of who is inside.

"Miss Girardi, I understand condolences are in order."

Issac B. Dunn is a long thin man in every way. His body is long and thin. His fingers are long and thin. So are his lips and his nose. The man is color blind and dresses only in shades of black, white and grey. Mostly grey. Even his hair is a mix of black and grey.

Joan makes no effort to hide her dislike for the director of covert operations for Homeland Security. "Spare me your phony sentiments."

Dunn smiles and Joan shivers. No one has every felt warm and fuzzy after a smile from Dunn. "Very well. I've never cared for the polite mannerisms of society. You had a busy summer, Joan. You have used this agency to cover your activities several times as of late."

Joan feels her dislike for this man rising with every word. She is aware he holds his position on the premise that you need a fanatic to fight fanatics. "Is that a complaint?"

"Not at all. I've grown to admire and appreciate your unique ability to be on the scene of potential disasters and some how defuse them. I wish to encourage that practice, and being situated in Arcadia, you are within an easy commute to the Pentagon, the F.B.I. academy at Quantico and C.I.A. headquarters at Langley. I want to hire you Joan on a roaming consultant basis."

"Hire me?" Joan asks, incredulous.

"We would pay you generously. Mostly we would seek your opinion on various…'situations' in the world. Perhaps occasionally, we would need to briefly send you into the field for a hands-on analysis. You could most likely maintain your current college status without change."

"Why would you want my opinion on anything? I'm just an ordinary college student."

"Oh please, let's not play that game. I'm not sure how you acomplish what you do, and I don't care. Our Mr. Bauer in the L.A. office is convinced you are a psychic. Maybe you are. I have no problems dealing with a psychic, or a practioner of black magic or even…a trained agent for a rogue government agency."

"Huh?"

"I am aware of your connection to Elaine Lishack and her group."

"Ms Lishack, my old high school science teacher? I. B., I think you have a screw loose."

"So, we are going to play games after all. Very well, we will pretend you do not know that Elaine is a supposedly retired secret agent whose cover story is that of a simple science teacher. 'Lishack' is of course not her real name. When I first knew Elaine, or Agent 66 as she was better known, she was the best agent that..." Dunn pauses and shakes his head. "No, not even after all of these years am I allowed to say the name of the agency Elaine worked for. Suffice it to say it was one of over a dozen boutique agencies set up during the cold war with a highly specialized mission. In those days the intelligence community believed in compartmentalization rather than the gigantic oversight agency I now work for."

"That must make it harder to get away with, shall we say...nefarious activities?"

"On the contrary. Under the ubiquitous claim of 'national security', I have a nearly unlimited right to...'do what has been done'. But I digress. In the 90's, those boutique agencies began to be shut down one after another. Elaine was already officially retired from her agency due to the stress of having lost her partner in a covert operation. Thus, 'Elaine Lishack' was born. However, when her agency was suppose to be dismantled only a few weeks later, it mysteriously disappeared. The chief operations officer, his staff, their files and equipment along with a vast amount of government funding was never seen again. I know they are still out there operating in a black-ops manner. The question is, did they recruit you, Joan?"

"Again, 'screw loose'. I'm only 19."

"Elaine was 19 and still in college when she was recruited. You should have seen her back then, Joan. Of course she was brillant and skilled, but she was also 'smokin' hot'. Agent 66 had the reputation of being able to seduce any man, to get him to do her bidding from her incredible sexual charisma. I hear that is an ability you share, Joan. Frankly, I have my doubts." Dunn says as he looks Joan up and down with a sneer.

"I've been ill." Joan says, sounding a little offended.

"I'm wondering if Elaine saw something special in you. A potential that reminded her of herself at a younger age. Maybe she knew you had 'special' abilities? Is that why you suddenly transferred into her class after the semester had already begun in your sophmore year? Is that why she remained your science teacher from then on?"

"Ms Lishack missed most of my senior year due to a difficult pregnancy."

"Yes, a classic dodge to avoid scrutiny while she went about doing covert ops for her rogue agency. Such as taking down Ryan Hunter?"

"You really are crazy. It wasn't a 'dodge', Ms Lishack had a baby!"

"Easily faked. Easily arranged. Joan, I know Elaine was the first person you spoke to when you arrived in L. A. And, she was at Dodger Stadium the night the Brotherhood of American Blood was suppose to attack that target. Instead, 320 domestic terrorists got their throats cut before they could fire off a single shot. It would have taken at least a thousand trained commandos to do that, and even then they would have had to be incredibly lucky. Is that where your 'psychic' abilities came in? Guiding the commandos to their targets so that not one was missed? God, you're a bloodthirsty little thing, aren't you?" Dunn smiles and again Joan shivers. "I like that about you. Here's the deal, Joan. You will either begin working for me, or I'll make sure you don't work for anyone."

"Aren't you forgetting something, I. B.? That presidential order in my file that says all government agencies have to keep away from me and to co-operate if I ask for help. I don't think President Bush would like you threatening me like this."

"George W. Bush won't be president forever."

Joan pauses, striking a pose - her hand cupped to her ear as if listening to something...

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I thought I heard a chorus of people shouting: Hallelujah! And as for that presidential order, it remains in effect unless the next president recinds it. I'm looking forward to the first woman president, and I'm betting there won't be room for someone like you in President Hillary Clinton's administration."

Dunn chuckles. "Don't be too sure. Men like me survive those who are temporarily in charge because we are needed, even if we are not liked. The next president, no matter who he may be, won't be in a position of overwhelming gratitude like 'Dubbya'. Besides, it's remarkably easy for files to have information deleted after the current guy is gone from office. Think about it Joan. I'll give you time to mull this over, but the next time you are needed, when your nation calls, you had better be ready to serve. Up until now you have enjoyed our protection. You and your family wouldn't want to be subjected to what we can do to you if we decide you are an enemy."

The limo pulls to the curb and the front seat guard opens the door. Joan exits and is surprised that Dunn follows her. He places his hand on Joan's shoulder in a remarkably friendly manner...

"Smile for the lady, Joan."

They are in front of one of the new condos on the edge of town. Joan looks up and sees Elaine Lishack peeking out from behind a curtain. She sees Dunn and frowns. She looks at Joan and seems confused by this development. The curtain closes. Dunn, having accomplished his goal, returns to the limo and drives away. Joan stands there feeling like she has fallen down the rabbit hole.

X X X X X

The walk to the nearest bus stop takes about fifteen minutes. On the way Joan mulls over what the crazy Issac B. Dunn has said. Elaine Lishack a retired (or possibly not retired) secret agent? No, that's insane. Ms Lishack has been a teacher at Arcadia High for years... Joan recalls an incident from her sophmore year. It was the day of the annual science fair. A strange, makeshift science project by Luke and Grace went horribly wrong. The 'rail gun' that was suppose to move a car motor only a few inches sent it sailing across the general purpose room, heading for Friedman and Glynis. Friedman managed to duck aside, but Glynis froze with fear. In fact, everyone in the room was paralyzed with fear and confusion by the unexpected danger. But not Elaine Lishack. With remarkable speed and reflexes, Lishack saw the danger and ran to Glynis, timing it out perfectly and shoving the scared girl out of the way in the nick of time. Joan knows that people don't risk their lives like that, react so fearlessly and skillfully to sudden peril without training and experience. Without that last moment save, Glynis would have died, and Luke probably would have faced charges of reckless homicide. A save courtesy of...Agent 66? (Footnote.)

On the bus bench Joan spots Old Lady God. Joan sits beside her.

"An unusual man."

"I. B.? He's one of those 'guardians' who needs to be guarded." Joan hesitates. "I...want to come back."

"You are always welcomed in my service, Joan."

"But there's a condition."

"A condition? Joan, please remember you are talking to God. I don't do 'conditions'."

"Well, I'll have to stand firm on this one. I will come back if you promise not to leave me unsupervised. I'm just too dangerous out there on my own."

"Joan, even though you were on your own during this recent time of 'vacation mode', you did remarkably good work."

"I got Jimmy killed."

"No Joan, the devil did that."

"Because of the mistake I made in Los Angeles. It opened me up to an attack by the other side, and Jimmy paid the price. I don't think that would have happened if I weren't out there on my own, blundering my way across America."

"Perhaps, but even in my service with my guidance, casualties do occur. They are inevitable in war, and make no mistake about it Joan, the other side and I are at war."

"I know, and if there's one lesson I've learned through all of this, it is that I need my 'general'. So, can I come back?"

"Joan, is this a willing desire to serve, or are you acting out of fear? I can work with either, but willingness produces far better results."

Joan pauses, considering the question. "Both. I am afraid that left on my own I will hurt a lot of people. Not intentionally, but by either a wrong action or an inaction. If I had been on my game, Renee Sloan would never have caught me off guard like that. That almost got my Dad killed. But, I also want to serve because I am sure working for you is the right thing to do. I've seen what people like Dunn and Congressman Lewis are capable of, and even though they are considered 'respected' leaders, they sicken me."

"I must admit a certain lack of fondness for their actions as well. If your father wins the mayor's office, I am sure he will be a much better leader for Arcadia."

"You said 'if'. Don't you know?"

"I know the most likely outcome, but as always, life is in flux and free will can take some odd turns. Alright Joan, I accept your 'condition'. Welcome back to my service. I look forward to our working together again." Old Lady God says, and then to Joan's surprise, kisses her on the cheek.

Old Lady God stands, waiting for the approaching bus.

"Any new asignments?"

"Just take care of yourself, Joan. You need to rest and recover from your vacation. I'll let you know when you are needed. In the meantime, your tutor is eager to get you back into shape."

Joan groans her displeasure at that thought as Old Lady God gets on the bus, giving the backhand wave. Joan watches the bus pull away and waits patiently for the next one, which is the one she needs to get back home. After a couple of minutes, Joan becomes aware of a presence. She looks up and sees her tutor towering over her.

"Hey big guy."

"Sunrise tomorrow. We begin with push-ups."

Her tutor turns and begins to walk away. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, a very brief smile appears on his face. He walks on. Joan wonders if the smile was because he will soon be torturing her again with his workouts, or...because he missed her?

X X X X X

That night finds Joan rested and ready for her assignment - as babysitter. Luke and Grace leave on their double date with Friedman and Dillon, while her parents have a dinner engagement with the local party chairman to discuss next year's campaign for mayor. Helen promises not to call because she doesn't want to disturb Eleanor, and Luke quietly informs Joan to expect frequent calls from Grace who is always nervous when others are watching their prescious daughter. Joan patiently accepts the wide variety of instructions and advice while resisting the urge to tell everyone to chill. It's not like she hasn't had tons of experience babysitting.

Joan's time with E. T. is surprisingly easy, despite the fact she is a virtual stranger to her baby sister. As Joan feeds, burps, bathes and dresses Eleanor for her evening rest, the baby seems remarkably unconcerned as to whom it is that is providing for her needs. Joan uses the time to have a running monologue with her sister, telling her who she is and what their relationship will be. Joan explains that she will be doing a lot of the care for her, but Eleanor seems indifferent to all that Joan has to say. Once all that has been done that needs to be done for her care, Joan takes Eleanor back to her crib. She tries to play with the fussy child, but Eleanor will have none of that. She begins to get fidgety and Joan remembers that this is the warning sign it is time to put the baby down. Quickly and gently Joan returns E. T. to her crib. Joan hovers over the crib for a few moments, but Eleanor seems upset with that too. With a heavy sigh, Joan steps back. Eleanor notices the mirror that is now always in the crib and calms down. She stares fascinated with herself.

From a safe distance Joan watches her sister and sighs, knowing there will be a long, painful road ahead for everyone - including Eleanor. Joan will not mention her certainty that E. T. is a sociopath. People will figure out soon enough that the youngest Girardi is...strange. Over the years there will be visits to doctors, counselors and other experts who will eventually confirm the sad diagnosis. It will be hard, especially for Will and Helen. The child they assumed would bring them joy in their rapidly approaching old age will instead be a source of frustration, pain and fear. Eleanor, due to a glitch in her genetic structure, will be incapable of forming emotional bonds or having that innate sense of morality nearly all are born with. To her people will always be 'things' that exist to serve her needs and desires. And she will always have the potential to be dangerous. Without a moral code, and with no internal restriction on her potential anger, others will be at risk if they infuriate her. With E. T.'s floppy ears, big nose and receding chin, she will be mercilessly teased by other children growing up, and they will be unaware of the extreme risk they are taking.

Not that her sociopathic condition will be a guaranteed life of dangerous violence. She can be raised with a logical, sensible ethical code with a heavy emphasis on consequences of one's actions. If she is intelligent, she can be trained to not follow her instinct to lash out at those who annoy her or stand in the way of her goals. In time, she will realize she is different from others, and will begin to fake her way through life. She will learn to say 'I love you' even though she doesn't mean it, and will develop 'friends' that are just there because she sees a need for them in order to interact socially. A lot of this will involve her manipulation of others for her own ends, but that is hardly unique to a sociopath. Eleanor may some day marry and have children, and will go through the expected motions of the role she is called on to play. She may even rise to a high position in society, but it will be a calculated, secretly uncaring climb. Most of all, she will have to learn to deal with the resentment she will feel for being an outsider, no matter how many people she fools into thinking she is normal. Eleanor will always resent that true connection others have with each other, which will remain like an unknown foreign tongue to her.

Joan hears a giggle of laughter and turns to watch her niece at play. As Joan once told Kevin, Annie is a ridiculously happy baby. Joan sits in a chair and observes Annie, on the floor, playing with a set of colored plastic blocks. Joan admires her niece, not only for her obvious intelligence but also for her adorable appearance. Even at 11 months, you can see that Annie will grow up to be beautiful. At the moment, Annie is concentrating on dividing her 100 blocks of five different colors into separate groupings. The orange ones are to her right and the blue ones are to her left. In front of her, Annie has arranged three circular patterns that are from top to bottom: red, yellow and green. It is clearly a stoplight. Joan again wonders just how smart Annie is. At least as smart as Luke at this age, and probably a bit smarter. Too smart not to be talking, especially from no more than stubborness.

Annie completes her task with the blocks and looks about for her next activity. So many things to accomplish with so little time. Let's see, there's Aunt Joan looking a little bored. Time to brighten her day... Annie looks about the room and begins pointing at something, she adds yearning sound effects to make sure Aunt Joan is paying attention.

Joan smiles. "Oh, somebody wants to play her 'pointing' game."

Annie nods, happy that someone is willing to play this with her again. Her joke on the fuzzy headed guy the other day has renewed her interest in the game. Annie increases her level of enthusiasm.

Joan follows the direction of Annie's finger and sees what she is pointing at. A thought occurs to Joan as to how to turn this to her advantage... "Yes Annie, I see that you are pointing at the piano bench, and there are three things there. I see your favorite picture book, that foam ball you keep trying to fit into your mouth and the stuffed bunny you won't sleep without. Is that where you want me to carry you?"

Annie nods again and again, becoming very excited.

"Okay, I'll be glad to play your game, but we need to do this differently."

Annie pauses, not liking the sound of this.

"I will gladly carry you over there, but first you have to tell me which item you want to see."

A look of offense comes to Annie's face. She frowns, which expresses: 'That is not how the game is played, Aunt Joan'.

Joan chuckles. "Oh I know this is a change in the rules, but trust me Annie, it will make the game much more fun. So, tell me what you are pointing at: the book, the ball or the bunny."

In response, Annie puts her fists against her hips and glares at her aunt.

"Now don't get mad, I'm just trying to make this game more fun for both of us. Come on Annie, I know you can do this. Which is it: boook, baall, or bun-nee?"

Annie turns away from her aunt and folds her arms.

Joan softly laughs. "So, you're going to be stubborn. Okay, that's fair. It's a Girardi trait. Of course, I'm a Girardi too and just as stubborn. What a shame, you will never be able to play the pointing game again. And it's such a fun game where you get to laugh and laugh after fooling people. But of course, no one plays it with you any more, do they? You've fooled everyone too often, and now no one will play the pointing game with Annie. Ohh, that's so sad. Of course I'm still willing to play, but only if we have the new rule. You have to tell me first before I carry you over there."

Annie hesitates, looking back over her shoulder at Aunt Joan. Maybe there is still a chance... Annie begins pointing at the piano bench again, bouncing up and down while putting an intense effort into making yearning sounds. Surely this will melt Aunt Joan's heart? Instead, Joan laughs again.

"No you don't, I know your tricks. Won't you even consider my way, Annie? Think of how many new people you will be able to fool with this new version of the game. You don't even have to say the right thing about what you want to see. You will be able to fool people again and again, and you'll laugh..."

Annie's expression changes as she considers this idea. She does like fooling people, and she loves to laugh... Joan watches with fascination as she sees the thought process expressed on her niece's face. Yes, she's going to do it. Annie is going to talk. Oh why didn't she think to have her camera phone with her so she could record this moment...

"That's it Annie, you can do it. Book, ball or bunny - tell me what you are pointing at."

Annie replies with the first words Joan has ever understood her niece to say...

"Yah-Yah."

THE END.

(Footnote: In 1995 a "smokin' hot" Elaine Hendrix starred with Andy Dick in an unsuccessful remake of the 'Get Smart' TV show where she played 'Agent 66'.)

Readers, after the end of my third season project, I was encouraged to continue the storyline. After a period of rest to recharge, I began writing post third season stories. At a slower pace, and much less organized, I submit that my fourth season consists of: FIRST ASSIGNMENT, BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL, E. T. GIRARDI, MARRIED LIFE, LOS ANGELES, SAN FRANCISCO, MIAMI and ARCADIA. This takes us up to the begining of Joan's second year in college, and seems like a good place to pause while I contemplate whether or not to try for a 'fifth' season. As always, I would greatly appreciate any reviews or feedback on this story and of the season as a whole. Thanks.

SANDEFUR.


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